


Devil Child

by JLMonroe1234



Category: Daredevil (TV), Iron Fist (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Luke Cage (TV), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Alcoholic Jessica Jones, Catholic Matt Murdock, F/M, He's also not a Parker, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Jessica Jones & Matt Murdock Friendship, Jessica Jones Swears, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Mid-Season Daredevil Season 3, Mom Jessica Jones, New York City, POV Jessica Jones, Peter's a baby in this so he's not really "in" it, Post-Episode: s01e08 The Defenders, Pregnancy, Protective Jessica Jones, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:35:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27623473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JLMonroe1234/pseuds/JLMonroe1234
Summary: It took one trip to the bodega down the street, about fifteen bucks, and exactly four separate tests for Jessica to believe what she was seeing.She looked at the sticks lined up on her bathroom counter. All of them displayed two little pink lines.“Fuck.”
Relationships: Jessica Jones & Claire Temple, Jessica Jones & Matt Murdock, Jessica Jones & Patricia Walker, Jessica Jones & Peter Parker, Jessica Jones/Matt Murdock, Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Matt Murdock & Karen Page, Matt Murdock & Peter Parker
Comments: 30
Kudos: 251





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> ** I didn't use archive warnings, but here are potentially sensitive topics mentioned in this fic.**  
> -Pregnancy  
> -Abortion (only mentioned)  
> -Alcoholism/heavy drinking
> 
> Also, this has no timeline. It takes place after the Netflix Defenders series but I have no idea where it lands in relation to Jessica Jones & Daredevil and I honestly don't really care.

Jessica Jones was used to life fucking her over. Royally. Every. Single. Time. 

She expected it, though. Knew that she was often dealt the worst hand, and rolled (as well as she could) with the punches, even when they left her black and blue. She was a Super. She’d heal. Right? 

She wasn’t one to mope when things went wrong, and definitely wasn’t one to cry. Her own tears might as well have been acid for how hard she usually tried to contain them, lest they slip out and leave searing marks as they tore down her face. So she tried to never shed a tear, not when the situation didn’t call for it. 

Watching that building fall, watching as she stood helpless in the road while Matthew Murdock was crushed beneath literal tons of stone and twisted metal, she decided that she’d let herself cry later. She might even risk a sniffle or two right there. Her comrades, hell, maybe even some people she considered _friends,_ stood with her as that skyscraper imploded. Midland Circle was quickly filling with debris and dust and gawking pedestrians, but all she could think about was Matt, what was _left_ of Matt, stuck in that cavern. 

Matt. Life’s most recent fuck-over. 

When he’d walked into that interrogation room all those weeks ago, all serious and clad in a moderately-priced suit, Jessica knew something was coming. Whether it was something good or bad, she could never tell. Predicting her own fate had become much too difficult. But she was nothing if not good at reading people, and Matt was the epitome of _I’m deathly smart, but I also have the common sense of a baked ham._

No one with common sense would read her case file and choose to defend her in front of a jury. Or in front of anyone else for that matter. _Her,_ of all people. 

But he had. He’d marched into that eight-by-ten foot room at the police station and offered to be her council, for no other reason than to gain experience and do a stranger a favor. He didn’t listen when she said she wanted to represent herself, and she was glad he didn’t. She was a fan of a person who didn’t bend to the will of others. It was the type of person she’d been trying to be the complete opposite of ever since Killgrave had been permanently removed from the equation. 

When she followed Matt a few days later and saw him hopping around Hell’s Kitchen like the devil was on his heels, leaping over fire escape rails and using walls and dumpsters as stepping stones on his way to running across rooftops, her suspicions had been confirmed; he was full of shit. Truly blind or not, he wasn’t who he said he was. 

But as Luke Cage, Danny Rand, herself, and Matt all came together to take down The Hand, she realized he was full of the _right kind_ of shit. Not the kind of shit that would drive her to a three-bottles-of-whiskey kind of night. The kind of shit that she’d see, step back, and think, _huh. This guy isn’t too bad._ The feeling solidified when he’d asked her for her scarf, tied it around his head like an idiot, and proceeded to absolutely demolish a large handful of The Hand’s goons in the confines of an office building hallway. Matt was thrown through a wall and managed to stand right back up using nothing but willpower. 

He was a force to be reckoned with. 

So was she. 

One night, she proposed the idea that they be immovable forces together. It was in passing, really, a joke made only after she was so distracted by the situation at hand and a need for a drink that she just about stepped into oncoming traffic. Matt reached out with impossibly quick reflexes and grabbed her by the waist, spinning her into his side and back onto the sidewalk just as a taxi passed by so closely that its side mirror clipped the zipper of her jacket as she was pulled away. 

“Damn, Murdock,” she said breathlessly, trying to refocus herself despite the strong arm still wrapped around her torso. She wriggled a little bit, and Matt finally realized he’d been holding on too long. He pulled her a smidge farther from the busy road, traffic steadily increasing as rush hour approached, and then let go of her so suddenly it seemed as if he’d been burned. “If I’d known you had a grip like that before, I definitely would have let you be my lawyer. No questions asked.” 

Matt’s mouth was agape. Jessica couldn’t see his eyes behind the deep read lenses of his glasses, but she assumed they were blown wide. He obviously didn’t know what to say, and Jessica realized that she’d let her fat mouth ruin a good thing once again. “I’m sorry, that was...Sorry. Yeah. I’ll shut up.” 

Matt shook his head. “It’s fine, really.” They started walking down the sidewalk again, their previous crisis averted. Jessica pulled her jacket tighter around her. It wasn’t that cold out today, not as cold as it usually was during winter in New York, but there was a bitter chill in the air that she hadn’t noticed before Matt’s arm was no longer around her. 

After a while, Matt chuckled quietly. Jessica looked at him quizzically, her way of asking him to vocalize his thoughts, until she realized he probably wasn’t keen on picking up visual social queues. “What’s so funny, Batman?” 

Matt shrugged. He was using his cane for the sake of keeping up appearances, the white pole in his left hand and his right hand gently grasping Jessica’s elbow for guidance. They were on unfamiliar streets, and even though she knew Matt was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, he asked if she could lead the way. She’d said yes, of course. 

“Imagine if I did what you said,” Matt joked, his voice laced with a laugh, “just walked into the interrogation room, squeezed your arm…” his hand went from hovering near the crook of Jessica’s arm to wrapping around her bicep, “and said, _I’m your attorney. Don’t ask questions.”_

“Then you would immediately have my respect, and I’d have complete faith that you’d get me out of whatever dumbass crime I accidentally committed that particular day.” 

“ _Accidentally?_ Do you often _accidentally_ commit crimes?” 

The two of them turned a corner and she realized they were on her street, now. But why? 

She’d forgotten her extra camera battery at her apartment, needed to go grab it. Right. Couldn’t do much sleuthing if the sleuthing machine was dead. 

Soon they were walking into the lobby of her building. Jessica led Matt through the small room and to the elevator. She mashed buttons until the door opened, and again until they closed. The two of them started their slow ascent. 

“I can’t think of anything specific,” Jessica finally responded, “but I’m sure I’ve done _something_ illegal recently.” 

“You’re a lot to handle, Miss Jones.” 

They entered her apartment and she shut the door behind him. She watched as with careful and practiced precision, Matt folded up his cane and tucked it into his coat pocket. His hand also went toward his glasses, presumably to remove them, but he stopped before he could make contact. 

“Do you mind?” He said with a slight flick of his wrist. 

Jessica blinked once. Twice. “They’re your eyes, man.” 

Matt laughed and Jessica realized she’d missed something. 

“No,” Matt said, finally removing his glasses and setting them on her desk. She didn’t realize how much of a mess it was until Matt went to put his glasses down and almost knocked a fast food hamburger wrapper to the floor. She was suddenly embarrassed, grabbing the offending piece of trash and shoving it in the waste bin. 

“I meant the couch. Do you mind if I sit?” 

His thumb was poking somewhere over his shoulder, and Jessica realized that his earlier motion had been to point at the orange sofa in the corner of her office. 

Jessica suddenly felt dense. _They’re your eyes, man._ She was a fool. 

“Yeah, yeah. Of course. Let me look for that battery.” 

Matt made himself comfortable on the couch while she dug through each of her drawers, her camera bag, everywhere she thought the battery could be. It took almost fifteen minutes for her to realize that the last place she’d changed her camera battery was in her kitchen, switching out the dead one with a fully charged unit while her toast cooked. 

She found the battery in her silverware drawer, and sighed at the implications of its location. She’d forgotten to put it on the charger. A quick plug into her computer confirmed what she feared; the battery was completely dead. 

“Bad news,” she told Matt, who’s been sitting oddly still on the couch, “Both batteries are empty. We’ll have to wait around a little while so they can get some juice.” 

“That’s no problem. I’m fine with waiting if you are.” 

Jessica hooked the battery up to her computer on a charging cord, then poured herself a drink and went to sit on the couch with Matt. Usually she would have just drank straight from the bottle, but something told her that Matt wouldn’t have approved. So she went for a cup. 

Matt’s face crinkled a little when she sat down. 

“What? You want some too?” She wiggled her cup a little. The amber liquid within sloshed up on the sides. 

Matt shook his head. “No, no. Thanks. It’s just strong.” 

“I’d hope so. That’s why I buy the good stuff.” 

Matt sniffed again. “That’s definitely not the good stuff.” 

“Exactly. The bad stuff tastes like gasoline. Which means it’s effective. So, therefore, it’s the good stuff.” 

Jessica reclined on the couch, shoulders hunched and glass held close to her chest. She stuck her legs out and crossed her ankles. 

Matt was still sitting ramrod straight. He looked uncomfortable. Sort of like he was afraid to touch Jessica’s couch more than he had to. Suddenly, Jessica’s drink wasn’t the most bitter thing in the room. 

“It’s not gonna kill you,” Jessica said, motioning to the couch. Matt looked confused and she realized she was using hand motions he couldn’t see again. She audibly slapped her hand against the couch cushion several times. “Sit back, relax, stay a while.” 

Matt smiled. It was lopsided, one corner rising higher than the other. It was oddly endearing. “I’m not worried about the couch. I’m just- uh, a little banged up. After being thrown through that wall yesterday. Kinda hurts to lean back.” He huffed a laugh. “I either sit like this or lay completely flat. No in-between. And if I lay flat, I might not get up any time soon.” 

“You mind if I take a look?” 

Jessica hadn’t meant to say the words, and Matt looked like he hadn’t expected her to say anything at all. His eyes were trained on some point over her shoulder like always, but his eyebrows were dangerously close to touching his hairline. 

“Nevermind, I mean— you don’t have to…That was a dumb question. Fuck. Sorry.” 

“Honestly, someone should probably check it out. I’ll be no use to any of us if I’m falling over in the middle of a fight.” And before Jessica could ask if he was _really_ sure, Matt was slipping his jacket off with a poorly concealed grimace, then loosening his tie, and then he was unbuttoning the top button of his dress shirt. 

He stopped before the button left its loop. “If doing this would make you uncomfortable you definitely don’t have—“

“You’re too Catholic. It’s fine. Checking for injuries isn’t a sin.” 

He didn’t respond to that, just pursed his lips and unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way. He left it on, though, the front of the garment open and exposing the array of black and blue splattered across his torso. 

Jessica set her drink on the floor. “Jesus, Matt.” 

The left side of his abdomen was heavily bruised, especially over his lower ribs. The right side wasn’t as bad, wasn’t as colorful, but the areas that were bruised were darker than the ones on the left. She experimentally poked at the area and Matt drew in a sharp breath. 

“Sorry. These might be cracked.” 

Matt shook his head. “No. I would hear it. They’re just bruised.” 

“You would _hear_ it?” 

“Cracked or broken bones shift. Especially ribs. If they were cracked, I’d hear the shift when I breathed.” Jessica’s hand was still resting on his ribs as he took a deep breath in, flinched from the pain, and let it out slowly through his nose. She realized how cold her hand was in contrast to the warmth radiating from him. “Yeah. Hurts, but nothing’s broken.” 

Jessica couldn’t imagine being so in-tune with her own body. Her stomach could be growling and she’d still forget to eat.

Matt shifted a little in his seat and Jessica realized her hand was still on his ribs. She cleared her throat and was about to pull away when something shining in the dim light of her apartment caught her eye. 

It was a scar. A thick one, running almost the full width of Matt’s stomach. She pushed the edge of his shirt back to get a better look. 

Now that she was paying attention, his torso was littered with them. A long skinny one here. A little fat one here. One that was mottled and raised like it hadn’t healed right. A ton of tiny ones, like he’d jumped through a glass window. Or ten glass windows. He must have taken Jessica’s silence as disbelief. To his credit, he didn’t push her away when she started tracing the discolored marks on his skin. “I can take a punch as well as anyone else, but for some reason, the guys I tangle with _really_ like sharp objects. I don’t heal quite like you Supers do.” 

Jessica frowned. “You _are_ a Super.” 

“Sure, but being able to hear my bones shift, smell an open wound, none of that means I’m strong. Or bulletproof. Or sword proof, for that matter. There’s been a lot of swords.” 

“You’re gonna kill yourself if you keep this up.” 

Matt tilted his head, like, _seriously? I can smell the liquor on your breath. It’s the middle of the afternoon. If I have a foot in the grave, you’re laying in it._

But he didn’t say anything at all. Just went to button his shirt back up. 

Jessica stopped him by scooting closer on that old, pathetic couch, putting her hand over his. Running her thumb along his knuckles, rough from years of being split open and healed over again. 

Jessica didn’t know why she did it. Maybe because he was rough around the edges, imperfect but trying his best. Maybe it was the fact that he wore dress shirts and ties even when he wasn’t working, or the fact that he was possibly as self-sacrificial as her, maybe even more so. It might have even been because she liked his scars. She was perverse that way, after all. 

But she wanted him. For what he was, what he did, what he could do. 

Jessica had a feeling that if Matt could look, he’d be looking at her right now. The way he tensed was just as genuine as eye contact. “Jess.” 

“We don’t have to,” she added quickly. Her usually steady voice betrayed her unease. “Say no. I’ll stop right now, and we’ll forget this ever happened.” 

Matt, as silent and stoic as he had been since she met him a few days ago, said nothing as he covered her hand with his own. Started leaning toward her. Slowly used his other hand to tug her jacket off her shoulder. “Same goes for you,” he said quietly. “We can stop. At any point.” 

“No questions asked,” they both said at the same time. Matt had the audacity to laugh at that. A genuine laugh, with a show of teeth and a deep sound that made him twitch when the magnitude of it pulled at his injured ribs. 

Jessica finally took her hand back so she could remove her jacket, then her shirt. Then Matt’s shirt. Then stood and went for the zipper of her jeans. 

Matt ran a hand down his face. “I’m the worst Catholic _ever.”_


	2. Chapter Two

That’s what she thought of as Midland Circle caved in with Matt caught beneath it. Of that toothy laugh, of the way he moved and spoke and loved like he’d never lost his sight.

Their time together was very different from Jessica’s usual flings. It wasn’t rough, or rushed, or simply for the sake of satisfying a need. They did it because they  _ wanted to.  _ And they went at Matt’s pace, a slow but sure one, and Jessica realized after a while that maybe she liked that pace too. 

But the way the rubble fell wasn’t slow. The building exploded in a cacophony of noise and sound and suddenly there was nothing, no building, no Midland Circle, no Hand to be defeated, no more problem, but no Matt. Like he’d never been there at all. 

But the looks Karen Page and Foggy Nelson had on their faces when Jess, Luke, and Danny walked back to the police station, Matt nowhere to be seen, were proof that he had in fact existed. And he left people behind. 

They couldn’t even find his body. 

Jessica allowed herself to wallow in that loss. The loss of a man who, had she gotten to know him better, might have actually stuck around for a while. She liked to think so, at least. 

She went back to her apartment and finished that glass of whisky she left on the floor by the couch. And then she refilled it and drank that too. And the next day she went to the bar and bought herself a glass of something nice, because she was tired and lost and deserved it. 

After that life moved on, just with a distinct, Matt Murdock shaped hole in it. 

Until about six weeks later when Jessica was looking through her medicine cabinet for some Pepto Bismol, she’d been  _ so  _ nauseous for literally no reason, and noticed a full box of tampons on the bottom shelf. 

Shouldn’t she have used all of those? 

Oh, shit. When was her last period? 

It took one trip to the bodega down the street, about fifteen bucks, and exactly four separate tests for Jessica to believe what she was seeing. 

She looked at the sticks lined up on her bathroom counter. All of them displayed two little pink lines. 

“Fuck.” 


	3. Chapter Three

A little less than a week later Jessica found herself in the ultrasound room of Planned Parenthood. Making the appointment had been nothing short of excruciating. It made everything seem way, way too real. 

“Alright, here we go,” the doctor said. Doctor Reid, or something. Maybe Freed. Or Meed. Jessica hadn’t been paying attention when she introduced herself. There was too much on her mind. “I’m gonna go ahead and get your clothes out of the way. We’re not fully undressing or anything.” She carefully pulled up the end of Jessica’s t-shirt and unbuttoned her pants to expose her abdomen. Jessica flinched when she started smearing the ultrasound gel around. 

“I’m sorry, I know it’s a bit cold. But as soon as I get this positioned correctly, we’ll be in business.” The doctor gently pressed the wand into Jessica’s lower stomach and slid it around in the gel. The screen connected to the machine showed nothing, yet, just random bits of black and white that meant nothing to an untrained eye. 

Until the picture changed, and the ultrasound wand stopped moving, and there was a definite  _ something  _ on the monitor. 

“There it is,” the doctor said. “Hold on, let me…” Without moving the wand, she leaned over and pressed a button on the machine. 

Some sort of sound echoed around the small exam room. Fast, fluttery, but definite. 

“That’s the heartbeat,” the doctor said. “It sounds just right to me. And that there on the screen, Miss Jones, is your baby. I’ll freeze the frame so you can take a good look.” 

She took a moment to really focus on what she was looking at. The tiniest little bean shape, outlined in white and sitting near the bottom of the image frame. If the doctor hasn’t pointed out, she might have missed it. 

“It’s...It’s so  _ small,”  _ Jessica said plainly. Aside from answering the doctor’s questions about her overall health, it was the first thing she’d said voluntarily since walking into the room. 

“Isn’t it? At the current size, I’d say you’re about seven or eight weeks along now. Does that sound right?” 

Midland Circle imploded, Matt along with it, seven weeks ago to the day. Jessica swallowed thickly and tried to keep her emotions in check. 

“Yeah, seven sounds about right.” 

The doc spun on her stool and clicked off the audio feed. Jessica’s baby’s heartbeat disappeared. She was sort of disappointed; she wanted to keep listening. As frightening as it all was, the fact that  _ there was a baby inside of her with a beating heart and a growing brain and soon it would have little fingers and toes, oh my god—  _ hearing the heartbeat had been soothing. It’s own lullaby, of sorts. Jessica was destructive and crude and could barely keep a houseplant alive, but the baby inside of her was seven weeks strong. The doctor said the heartbeat was healthy. 

She hadn’t managed to mess anything up. Yet. 

The doc wiped the ultrasound jelly off her stomach. Jessica immediately sat up and buttoned her pants, pulled her shirt back down. She’d hated being in such a vulnerable position, but she knew she’d have to get used to it. There’d be a lot more days like this in the coming months. 

“Miss Jones, I want to talk to you about your options.” 

Jessica’s head whipped her direction. “My options?” 

The doctor nodded. Jessica finally took the time to read the name embroidered above the pocket of her white coat. It read  _ Melissa Reid, OBGYN.  _ “Obviously, your first choice is to keep the child.” 

Yeah. No shit. 

“Your second choice is to terminate the pregnancy. The state of New York allows abortions up to twenty four weeks.” 

“ _ I’m not doing that, _ ” Jessica said, maybe a bit too harshly. She took a deep breath, shut her eyes a bit. She took a moment to try and rein in all of her stray thoughts. “I’ve thought about it. I don’t want to do that.” 

“And that’s perfectly fine. If you ever want to have that conversation with me I’m happy to have it, but if you know it’s off the table, then it’s off the table.” 

She had thought about it, at first. About thirty seconds after the fourth at-home pregnancy test came back positive. 

_ I’ll just get an abortion. I’ll take care of it. I won’t have to worry about it.  _

_ I can’t let a child grow up with me. Without its father, the one parent who might have done a good job raising it. And even  _ he  _ was a risk. The man beat people up as a hobby.  _

_ I shouldn’t raise a child.  _

_ I can’t raise a child.  _

A little bit later, when the panic had worn itself down to a dull, more manageable anxiety, she thought through it all again. 

_ I don’t think I can do it. I can’t forget about it. It’s already here. It’s a part of me.  _

_ What would my parents think? Would they be excited to have a grandchild?  _

_ Philip would have loved being an uncle. He was dorky that way.  _

_ Trish is gonna flip her lid. Like, majorly. I don’t know if she’ll be happy or scold me for not being more careful.  _

_ Matt would want me to keep it.  _

Jessica was the last person to bend to the wants of a man, especially in regards to her own body and comfort. And she definitely wasn’t going to base the rest of her life upon what her dead baby daddy  _ might  _ have wanted.

But when she laid in bed alone at night and thought about it, a little kid running around with Matt’s lopsided grin and whatever trait of hers it got stuck with, she knew she had to keep it. Maybe a little bit for Matt, but definitely for herself. 

“There’s also adoption,” Doctor Reid said, “another good option.” 

Adoption...wasn’t off the table. Not yet. But she wasn’t dead set on it, either. 

She could give the baby up and it could end up somewhere fantastic, with a financially stable family who loved it and cherished it and took it to baseball games or dance practice or whatever else it was that present parents did. The baby could have the best life possible under a roof in the suburbs, or in a penthouse, or anywhere else besides Hell’s Kitchen with a mom whose apartment had bullet holes in the walls. 

But it could also end up with a terrible family. End up with someone like Dorothy, who only took Jess in for the publicity of it all. Jessica went unloved for years, and she’d been taken in as a teenager. Imagine the damage that could be done to a kid if it got placed with someone terrible as a baby. Or if it ended up in the foster system and skipped from home to home, never establishing a family, never growing roots. Never feeling like there was someone who loved it unconditionally, would do anything for it. 

Jessica did her own research on Matt. He grew up without his mom, his dad was murdered, and then he ended up in an orphanage. All things considered he turned out a pretty good guy, but he still had the Daredevil side of him. The side of him so full of unresolved anger and a need for vengeance that he went out at night and beat the shit out of strangers. Jessica didn’t want her child to end up like that. 

“I’ll think about it,” she told Doctor Reid simply. 

Reid just nodded. “You have time. I’ll give you some pamphlets on everything so you have more info. If you have questions, please don’t hesitate to reach out. But in the meantime, based on your pre-appointment questionnaire, there’s some lifestyle changes you might need to start making.” 

“Such as?” 

“You said you only sleep anywhere from four to six hours a night?” 

“Typically.” 

“You’ll soon find that that simply won’t be enough. Proper rest is important for you and the baby. Try to head to bed a little earlier. You also noted that you’re a heavy drinker.” 

“Used to be. Quit cold turkey when I found out.” 

It was true; the second she realized she was pregnant, she’d dumped all the liquor in the apartment down the kitchen sink. She may have cried a little bit. She blamed it on the hormones. 

The last six days hadn’t been easy without it, especially when her emotions were running so high. She could no longer rely on her usual vice without risking the health and wellness of her unborn child. Jessica was a bitch, but she wasn’t crazy. She knew she needed to stop. 

“That’s good, I’m glad to hear it. But alcohol dependence doesn’t just go away. I think you’ll find yourself going through a sort of detox here very soon, if you haven’t already.” 

She didn’t know if her recent nausea was just morning sickness or a symptom of her detox, but the headaches, agitation and shakiness definitely were. She’d heard of smokers chewing gum when they felt a craving, so she’d done the next best thing and chosen unsweet tea (caffeine free, of course) as her new substitute. She liked to make it a little too watery so it was the same color as her scotch. If she used her imagination, it was almost just as bitter. 

(Not at all. It was nowhere close. But she needed something to sip on when the cravings took over.) 

“Yeah, there’s been a few.” She listed them off for the doctor, who entered them into her chart. 

“I know it’s rough, but I’m glad you’re trying, Jessica. You’re doing the baby a big favor by quitting.” 

“About that. I, uh…” Jessica trailed off, not sure how to proceed without sounding like the worst person on the planet. Doctor Reid just sat there and waited for her to work up the nerve. Her patience was almost infuriating. 

“During the first few weeks, when I didn’t know. That I was pregnant, I mean. I was still drinking quite a bit. Do you think something, I don’t know, something  _ bad  _ will happen because of it?” 

It had kept Jessica awake for days, now. Thinking about the potential damage she could have done because she was so careless with someone else’s life. Granted, she hadn’t  _ known  _ she was responsible for someone else’s life, but in the end that didn’t really matter. If something was wrong with the kid, it would still be her fault. 

“It’s really too soon to tell. Luckily you stopped as soon as you realized, but alcohol use in pregnancy always has risks. Future behavioral issues, low birthweight, below average height, mental deficits, among other things. But like I said, it’s too soon. We’ll keep an eye on everything. As of right now I wouldn’t panic. Baby Jones is in great health.” 

_ Baby Jones.  _

_ Oh shit. I’m having a baby.  _


	4. Chapter Four

It took a couple more weeks for Jessica to work up the nerve to tell Trish. Mostly because it took that long for her to truly wrap her head around it all.  _ A baby. I’m having a baby. Matt Murdock’s baby. Matt Murdock is dead. My family is dead. If I keep this baby, I’m raising it alone. If I don’t keep it, it might end up alone.  _

She was no closer to deciding whether to put it up for adoption or not. It was hard to imagine having a baby at all when all it did right now was literally make her sick. Staring at the little ultrasound picture Doctor Reid had given her wasn’t the same as seeing the child in person, holding it, loving it. 

She didn’t want to decide to give it away, to choose an adoptive family, and then see it’s little face and change her mind. She couldn’t do that to someone who’d wanted the child from the start. 

But she also couldn’t imagine going home alone to an empty apartment, just her and an infant and the little striped blanket they use to swaddle it in the hospital, and realizing there was no way she could do it all on her own. 

How did other people decide this sort of thing? She only had two options, but neither one sounded quite right. 

As Jessica walked into the elevator of Trish’s apartment building and smashed the button for her floor, she kept her hand wrapped around the ultrasound photo in her jacket pocket, running her thumb across its smooth surface. She hadn’t left home without it since her seven-week appointment. 

She was nine weeks along now. Time was flying way faster than she thought possible. 

The elevators doors opened with a ding and Jessica took off down the hall, not caring how loud the slapping of her boots was against the porcelain tiles of the corridor. She hadn’t told Trish she was coming. She never did, usually, just showed up whenever it suited her. If Trish wasn’t home she’d wait outside or let herself in. (Translation: she’d break the doorknob and fix it before Trish got home and noticed.) 

But it was a Saturday and Trish was home for the day, so she opened the door on Jessica’s second knock. 

“Jess? What’s up?” 

“Can I come in?” Jessica didn’t wait for a response, pushing past Trish into the apartment and taking a seat on her living room couch. The long one, the one Jessica liked using when she’d stay over drinking and was too wasted to walk back home. 

Trish followed her and sat down in a chair opposite the sofa. Jessica must have interrupted her during her workout; she was in an athletic tank top and leggings, her hair pulled high into a ponytail. Jessica tried not to frown when she realized that in a few month’s time, stretchy shirts and leggings may be the only clothes she’d fit into. 

Trish scanned Jessica from head to toe, looking for any obvious injuries. “Is everything okay? You’re being quiet. Not your usual stoic quiet, though. You seem upset.” 

“Hm. Upset is a good way to put it.” 

Trish looked at Jessica expectantly, crossing her legs in her seat. “Well? Why’re you here?” 

“A girl can’t pop in and say hello to her dear ol’ sister?” 

_ “Jessica.  _ You don’t pop in. You bust in, usually with some sort of crisis. So what’s the crisis?” 

“I’m pregnant.” 

Trish rolled her eyes. Jessica’s heart dropped to her toes. She wasn’t sure if she should tell Trish at all, and her adoptive sister’s reaction was proof of her suspicions. Suddenly Jessica wanted nothing more than to get off her couch and walk right out the front door. 

“That’s not funny, Jess.” 

“No, it isn’t.” 

Trish blinked once. Twice. Opened her mouth like she was going to speak and then shut it again just as fast. “You’re not...You’re not  _ actually  _ pregnant.” 

Jess put her arms out to the sides and wiggled her fingers in a  _ ta-da!  _ sort of gesture. “Congrats! You’re an aunt.” 

“Jessica!  _ What the hell?  _ How?!” 

“Did your mom not have the talk with you, Trish?” 

“Stop being coy. You know what I mean. When? How long have you known?” Trish scooted forward in her chair and leaned in like she was about to tell some sort of juicy secret. “Who’s the father?” She asked with wide eyes. 

Trish was staring at her now, like if she looked hard enough she’d see the baby inside Jessica’s womb. It was making Jess self-conscious. She zipped her jacket and crossed her arms over herself. “I’m at nine weeks. Found out not too long ago.” She didn’t want to admit that she’d waited so long to tell her about it. “And it’s Matthew Murdock.” 

“Matthew Murdock? That lawyer from the Midland Circle incident?” Trish took a moment to process the information. Eventually the realization dawned on her face and she genuinely looked like she might have a breakdown. “Jessica Jones, you’re telling me that  _ Daredevil  _ is the father of your child?” 

“I never said I made good choices.” 

“This is the  _ worst  _ choice! Your baby daddy is a violent vigilante! The police are scared of him!” 

“The police are scared of me too. What difference does it make?” 

“ _ What difference does it make?  _ Instead of being home to feed the kid, teach the kid, take the kid to softball games, he’ll be out beating the shit out of common criminals!” 

“Matt Murdock is dead. He won’t be out doing  _ anything.  _ Like, ever.” 

Trish tilted her head to the side like a confused dog. “What do you—  _ oh.  _ Oh, Jess, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t even thinking.” 

Now Jess was thinking, though, even more than she had been these last couple weeks. More specifically, she was thinking about Karen Paige and Foggy Nelson and how they both lost a friend that night. How Hell’s Kitchen lost its savior. 

“Are you keeping it?” 

Jessica had been so deep in her own head that she almost hadn’t heard Trish speak. “I’m not getting an abortion, if that’s what you mean.” 

“I’ll support you in whatever you want to do.” 

“Right.” Jessica squinted at her sister, at the too-invested look on her face. She’d always been terrible at hiding what she felt. “You don’t think I should keep it.” 

“I never said that-“ 

“You might as well have.” Suddenly Jessica was up and off the couch, grabbing her phone and her now ever-present styrofoam cup of ice tea that she’d left on the kitchen counter. 

Trish followed her as she made her way to the foyer. “Do you really think you’re equipped to have a baby right now?” 

Jessica spun on her so quickly that Trish took a few steps back. Her  _ I will not hesitate to throw you into a wall  _ face must have been in full effect. “You know what? I don’t know. I’ll probably never know. But I’m not getting rid of it.” And with that Jessica walked out the front door, purposefully slamming it shut behind her. 

She should have known Trish wouldn’t be supportive right off the bat. Had even expected it, to a degree. But a silly part of her was so desperate for someone to lean on, for someone to tell her that her world wasn’t falling apart, that Trish’s reaction had stung. 

She was so  _ scared.  _ For herself, for her baby. And the one person she thought might be there for her basically told her she’d fucked up. 

Jessica hadn’t been sure before regarding whether or not she wanted to put the baby up for adoption. She hadn’t even planned on thinking about it again for another few weeks, getting along in the pregnancy a bit and looking at the situation with a fresh set of eyes. 

But she was sure, now. This baby was  _ hers.  _ A part of her, an extension of her. If someone wanted to take it from her, they’d have to pry it from her cold, dead hands. 

She was keeping the baby. And she’d be the best goddamn mom anyone had ever seen. 


	5. Chapter Five

Jessica’s first trimester passed uneventfully. Except for the fact that none of her jeans fit anymore, and she’d begun living in the same three pairs of black leggings. 

The progression from  _ unnoticeably pregnant _ to  _ oh my God, I’m pregnant  _ had been gradual. At around thirteen weeks, she really just looked bloated. Like she’d gone on a pretty serious beer bender. By sixteen weeks none of her pants would button properly; she was wrapping hair ties around the button and through the hole to force them closed. She was eighteen weeks along, now, and officially retired the jeans for the foreseeable future. It wasn’t like she was  _ huge.  _ The bump was noticeable, but not nearly as big as it could be. Apparently she’d taken her normal size for granted. 

It upset her more than it should have. The way she dressed was so mundane, so  _ her.  _ Being able to slide her usual boots, jeans, and jacket on in the morning was just part of her routine. Having that taken away from her felt cruel. She was already sharing her body. Now she couldn’t even choose how she dressed? 

The first trimester was already half over by the time Jessica even found out she was pregnant, so the rest of it was a blur of nausea and unsweet tea and wondering where the hell in her one bedroom apartment she was supposed to fit a crib. She decided it would go next to her bed. There was no way she was leaving it in her office space, where anyone could just walk in and stare at her kid like it was a lawn ornament. 

Besides, she wanted the kid close to her at night. 

Once the child grew up, she knew a crib in the bedroom wouldn’t work. She’d have to find a way to give it its own space, it’s own bed. Her apartment just wasn’t big enough, but that was a problem she’d try to solve later. For now she was mainly focused on getting through the pregnancy. Making it to her monthly doctor’s appointments, tucking away cash for all the  _ shit  _ she was about to have to buy. That sort of thing. 

Today she was officially eighteen weeks, and had another doctor’s appointment at the clinic. Doc Reid said she’d likely be able to find out the sex. 

She hadn’t even tried guessing. Every time she heard a pregnant woman say, “I just  _ know  _ it’s a boy” or “It  _ feels  _ like a girl” she thought they were completely full of shit. How could they possibly know? What instinct did they have that told them such a thing? Whatever it was, it hadn’t hit Jessica yet, and she’d felt no compulsion to try and find out on her own. That was the doctor’s job. 

Just as Jessica was shoving her boots onto her feet and her arms into her jacket (even thought she couldn’t really zip it up any more without looking like an idiot), someone knocked gently on the glass of her front door. 

She just stared at it, hoping whoever was on the other side would give up and go away. 

“I know you’re in there, Jess,” a familiar voice said from outside the door. “I can see you in the office.”

Trish. Of course it was Trish. 

It only took her nine weeks to come around. 

She’d actually texted Jess around week ten, asking to talk. Then called her during week eleven and left a message pleading for a meeting. After Jessica didn’t respond, Trish went from civil to offended and didn’t reach out again until week fourteen. Jess responded that time, left her a message about being willing to talk, and then Trish asked if she’d thought more about her “options” and Jess got pissed and turned into the one giving the cold shoulder. 

Jessica was surprised it had taken Trish this long to show up in person. She was usually much more persistent. 

With a great amount of hesitation and angst, Jessica unlocked the front door. Trish was standing in the hall, her hand raised and poised to knock again. Her soft pink pantsuit and heels were a stark contrast to the grime of the hallway. She must have just come from work. 

Trish’s eyes instantly shot down to Jessica’s newly protruding midsection. “Wow. You’re, like,  _ actually  _ pregnant.” 

Jessica rolled her eyes and walked back into the apartment, leaving the front door open as an unspoken invitation for Trish to enter. “If you came here to lecture me, it’ll be falling on deaf ears. I’m literally on my way to a doctor’s appointment.” 

“I didn’t come here to fight. I came to apologize.” 

Jessica poked her head out of the kitchen where she was preparing herself a cup of tea to-go. She’d definitely gotten herself hooked. Her teeth were gonna be brown by the time the baby came along, but brown teeth were better than fetal brain damage via excessive alcohol consumption. She’d stick with the tea. “Oh, this oughta be good.” 

“It was wrong of me to try and make choices for you.” 

“Correct. Continue.” 

“And I know I don’t have a say in what you choose to do.” 

“Also correct.” 

“I really thought I was just telling you what you needed to hear. I realize now that I was overstepping. None of this is up to me. Only you know what’s best for you and your baby.” 

Jessica didn’t have a comeback for that one. Whether or not she knew what was best for herself and her unborn child had been up in the air for a while now. She was flying blind through a lot of this. 

“I also realized that I should have been there for you these last couple months.” 

Jessica knew what Trish was really thinking;  _ I should have been there for you these last couple months, because you don’t have anyone else.  _

Trish and Jess had been arguing for years. They were sisters, maybe not by blood, but in every other sense of the word. Not to mention sisters with very different personalities and interests. Bickering was just part of the package. 

They had blow-out arguments every once in a while, arguments that left them on bad terms for a couple months at a time. Usually one of them gave in and apologized to the other and they’d almost immediately go back to interacting normally despite the weeks spent apart. 

This particular row had scared Jessica, though. It felt too real. She thought she might have really damaged her relationship with one of the only people left in her life. 

And then she realized all she’d done was decide to keep her baby, something Trish had no choice over, and that  _ this  _ time, she wasn’t the one in the wrong or the one blowing things out of proportion. Trish showing up unprompted reassured Jes that she’d made the right decision by staying distant for a while. 

“Would have been nice,” Jessica said finally. 

That’s when Trish stepped forward and extended her right arm. She was carrying a little gift bag that Jessica somehow hadn’t noticed when she walked in. It was a soft yellow, the handles made of ribbon in the same summery shade. “It’s your life. Your baby. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that sooner. But I want to be here, Jess. From here on out.” Jessica took the bag and sat it on the desk behind her. Trish didn’t seem to mind that she wasn’t opening the gift right away, just happy that she hadn’t thrown it across the room or something. 

“We can work on it. But seriously, I have a doctor’s appointment, and I’m gonna be late if I don’t leave right now.” 

“C-can I come?” 

Jessica’s pace stuttered, the hand she had on Trish’s back to usher her toward the front door freezing in place. “Seriously? Like, this is a legitimate question?” 

Trish shrugged. “I mean, yeah? I’d like to be there, if you don’t mind. I’ve got two months worth of info to catch up on.” 

Jessica’s phone buzzed in her pocket. It was an alarm she’d input weeks before, set to go off twenty minutes before her appointment. At this rate she’d definitely be showing up late. 

Making a quick decision for the sake of preserving her sanity, Jessica just rolled her eyes and nudged Trish toward the front door. “Fine. But please, for the love of God, don’t speak while we’re there.” 


	6. Chapter Six

Having someone in the exam room other than herself and Doctor Reid was strange. Her pregnancy experience so far had been largely one sided, with Matt being gone and her having no real family to obsess over nursery colors or potential names. And it wasn’t like the baby could talk back to her when she spoke to it, all the nursery rhymes from her own youth that she’d been absentmindedly mumbling aloud falling upon deaf ears. 

If Doctor Reid thought anything of Trish’s presence, she kept it to herself. 

“Everything’s looking alright, so far. Baby does seem a little small, but nothing to be concerned about at the moment. Everything’s still within normal parameters.” Doctor Reid adjusted the ultrasound wand. “Just make sure you’re still taking the vitamins I recommended and getting enough to eat. The best thing you can do for the baby right now is take care of yourself.” 

Jessica just nodded, trying to calm her fluttering heart.  _ The baby was too small. Something was wrong. The baby wasn’t big enough and it was probably her fault and-  _

Somehow Trish must have sensed her inner turmoil, because she reached over from the plastic chair she’d been sitting in to gently squeeze Jess’s arm. It was a move that, on any other day, Jessica would have brushed off without a thought. But today she was glad for the comfort and the company. 

“Baby’s in a good spot right now. I think we can find out the sex today, if that’s something you’d be interested in.” 

Jessica nodded eagerly. “Yes, yeah. Definitely. I want to know.” She’d been waiting for this moment since her  _ last  _ appointment, using it as a tether so she wouldn’t get lost in her own head.  _ One more month, and I’ll get to know. Two more weeks, and I’ll get to know. Three more days, and I’ll get to know.  _ The day had finally arrived, and Jessica was ready. 

Doc Reid did more maneuvering with the ultrasound wand. The wait was agonizing. Eventually, though, she froze the image on the monitor so Jessica could take home those little printouts, just like she had at her last two appointments, and she turned to look at Jessica straight on. “Congratulations, Miss Jones. It’s a boy.” 

It was a boy. 

_ It was a boy.  _

Jessica was going to have a son. 

_ Matt would probably be shitting his Kevlar pants right now. _

There was a sudden pressure on her shoulder. Jessica turned to face Trish, who’s hand was resting on her and squeezing gently. She looked surprisingly teary eyed for someone who didn’t want Jessica to have the baby in the first place. She hoped this meant Trish’s sudden interest in the pregnancy was legitimate. Not just an excuse for her to make sure Jessica didn’t fuck anything up. 

Trish went home directly after the appointment, the two of them parting ways when they made it back to Jessica’s apartment. She’d coerced Jessica into a quick hug before getting in her car with a little less grace than usual and heading in the direction of her apartment. She said it was because she had a meeting with her publicist (she’d removed Dorothy’s privileges in that department) and had to get ready to head to the office. But Jessica had a feeling there was more to it than that. Maybe she’d realized that one home invasion was enough for the day, and she should give Jessica a little while before forcing her way into her life again. 

But a little part of Jessica was really, really glad her and Trish were on speaking terms again. She’d missed knowing that someone cared about her. And she’d missed having someone to care about that could actually talk back to her. 

She’d also just missed her sister. 

Jessica’s return to her apartment went how it usually does— pants off, fresh glass of tea, laptop open. She was trying to put in as many office hours as possible so she could bank some cash before the baby arrived. She’d been doing well so far, but she could feel the impending cloud of exhaustion drifting her way. Growing a human was  _ exhausting _ and it only became more so as the pregnancy progressed. 

Slightly swollen feet propped up on her desktop and chair reclined, Jessica tried to sit down and get some work done. Hogarth had thrown a pretty hefty new project her way and the research was tedious. It required focus and precision, something she was seriously lacking today in particular, because she couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that  _ it’s a boy. I’m having a little boy.  _

She could finally stop calling the baby  _ it.  _ Though,  _ the boy  _ didn’t sound much better. She was going to have to start thinking about names soon. Her laptop quickly forgotten, Jessica’s eyes were unfocused and trained on nothing in particular as her mind wandered against her will. 

She’d been like every other preteen girl when she was in middle school and had compiled a short list of names she just  _ had  _ to use for her future children. She didn’t remember a single one of them now, just that they were all weird or based off celebrities, and also the fact that most of them had been for a girl. Rarely did she find herself dreaming of having a son. Of course, once she hit high school she thought she didn’t want kids at all, and felt that way up until she saw her baby on the ultrasound monitor for the first time. 

That little blip on the screen had opened her eyes wider than she ever thought possible. 

She cursed her younger self for being so ill prepared and for not preserving those baby name lists somehow. She briefly allowed herself to wish that Matt was around to help her decide. He’d probably pull something from the Bible, something regal or meaningful, and their child would pop out with a name that endowed him with a pre-established sense of divine purpose. She hasn’t known Murdock for long, and the man did not by any means seem like he had his life together, but he seemed sure enough in himself. In his priorities. If something mattered to him, he made it happen. 

He would have made a great dad. And if not a great dad, then a great baby-namer. In all honesty, anyone would probably be doing a better job at naming her child than Jessica was. 

Her toes beginning to feel the pins and needles that signaled her feet were falling asleep, Jessica pulled her legs off the desk and onto the floor. As she brought them down, her feet knocked into something on the edge of the desk and it fell to the floor with a distinct crinkling sound. It was the gift bag Trish had brought her earlier. It stood starkly bright and yellow against Jessica’s living room floor. 

Jessica leaned over with a grunt and grabbed it by the handles. The tissue paper was ruined and crumpled now, so she wasted no time in pulling it out of the bag and reaching for whatever was inside. Her fingers grazed something soft and she immediately tugged it toward her. 

It was a full onesie, size newborn to three months, according to the tag. It was obvious Trish had tried to go gender neutral with it since she hadn’t known the sex of the baby before a few hours ago. It was mostly white with black cuffs on the sleeves and black soles on the feet. A large white Mickey Mouse head was printed near the heel of each foot. There were little pictures of Mickey Mouse scattered all over the onesie in various states of happiness; smiling wide, arms in the air, hands on his hips like he just couldn’t be more excited to be printed on a baby garment that would probably be covered in spit up soon. 

Jessica hated to admit it, hated to give Trish any sort of credit—

But the onesie was fucking adorable. 

Jessica set it aside so she could put it in the box later.  _ The box  _ had sort of become Jessica’s baby grenade, a crate full of items she’d been collecting gradually over the last few weeks. Some bottles here, some little socks here. A pack of burp rags. A pacifier with a littlest stuffed giraffe on the end. Some other odds and ends she’d grabbed off of store racks at the last minute. The Mickey Mouse onesie, now. There were even some balls of yarn and a set of knitting needles. She’d fallen into a google deep dive one night and found herself on the knitting side of YouTube and decided that her baby’s first blanket would be made by her, not by an overworked employee in a shop in China. She still hadn’t unraveled the yarn, but she planned on starting her project over the weekend. 

Just as Jessica was about to fold up the yellow gift bag and shove it in the trash, she felt something lumpy near the bottom of the bag. Whatever it was, she must have missed it after getting distracted by the onesie. 

She stuck her hand inside and pulled out—

_ Oh my god, you’re joking— _

-an almost comically small red sock hat. 

With  _ little fabric devil horns sewn to the top.  _

“You just couldn’t resist, could you?” Jessica said aloud to her empty apartment. 

It was absolutely ridiculous. It was deep burgundy and soft as can be, perfect for a baby. Except for the horns. Where Trish managed to find such an accessory was beyond Jessica. She must have paid a ridiculous amount of money for some shmuck on Etsy to put it together. 

Looking at the hat that was barely as big as her hand, Jessica was reminded suddenly of how drastically her life was going to change in a few short months.

How the father of her child wouldn’t be there for the change, to help with the change. 

Jessica hadn’t loved Matt. She’d barely known Matt. But seeing a part of him that he cared about so much, that he invested so much time and energy and pain into, was stoking a fire Jessica didn't know she’d been burning. She’d have liked to have gotten to know Matt, in another life. Maybe she would have held back on the hooking up part if she knew it would lead to this, but having more than a few days to get to know him might have been nice. 

But for now all she and her baby had was the tiny hat with the devil horns. Matt’s legacy, keeping his son warm even in death. 

Jessica’s eyes were suddenly watery. She didn’t bother wiping away the few tears that fell and made salty tracks down her cheeks. She blamed their presence on the pregnancy hormones. 

Just as she was about to call it a night, maybe go take a shower and rinse off the day, something fluttered near her midsection. It was gentle as a butterfly’s wings, something she would have never noticed had she not been so unusually in tune with her body recently. 

She tried to recall the monthly fetal developments she’d read about on her most recent google deep dive. 

_ Usually beginning around eighteen to twenty weeks, the baby may begin noticeably moving or kicking.  _

The feeling came again. Soft, dismissible as a popped bubble, if Jessica hasn’t known better. But somewhere within her she knew it was her son. It was one of the first moments Jessica felt like her son and herself were in a maternal relationship, not a symbiotic one. This thing, this baby, wasn’t taking her life. It was giving her one. 

_ I’m here buddy.  _

_ And you’re gonna look adorable in the hat.  _


	7. Chapter Seven

Jessica woke up on the first day of week thirty with a pounding headache. 

It was raining outside. Water splattered against Jessica’s bedroom window. Stormy days were usually a relief for her, them being nature’s own white noise machine, but today the torrent was grating her nerves. Every clap of thunder just felt like a slap in the face. 

She scooted herself to the edge of the bed and sat up with her legs hanging over the side, careful to not kick the cherry wood crib a few feet away. Trish had bought it for her and helped her assemble it a few weeks prior. 

“ _ Baby’s not due for another couple months,” Jessica said as she watched two delivery men carry the box into her apartment. Trish waltzed in behind them with her arms crossed and looking very, very smug. “Why do we have to do this now?”  _

_ The men set the box down in the office, Trish signed their clipboard, and they left the apartment without another word. “You can never be too prepared.” She slapped the side of the box like it was a prizewinning horse. “This thing converts into a toddler bed. Double the value. C’mon, let’s get it set up. I assume you want it in the bedroom with you?”  _

The second Jessica was vertical her head pounded painfully, and she dug the heels of her hands into her eyes to stave away the little dots in her vision. 

She hadn’t had a headache like this for a while. It was the sort of headache she got when she hadn’t had a drink in the last twelve hours. 

She’d been doing well with the sobriety so far— as well as any addict, really. She had those days where a drink sounded better than a meal, or she missed the smell of whiskey like she might the smell of fresh baked cookies. She missed having a liquid crutch to lean on when her thoughts took darker turns than usual.

Those days she leaned a little more heavily on Trish, who’d been a solid presence in Jessica’s life since the two of them worked out some of their issues a few months back. Trish could be a good listener, whenever Jessica was willing to share. 

But Trish didn’t really know what it was like, either. Quitting drinking cold turkey hadn’t been easy by any means, still wasn’t. Jessica’s current migraine was proof of that. Some days you felt cured, and some days you felt like you were back at square one. 

After several minutes of staring at the wall and realizing her head wasn’t going to feel any better, Jessica drug herself off the mattress and into the bathroom for a shower. The baby gave a particularly firm kick and she grunted in surprise. 

“Good morning to you too, devil child.” 

She snorted when she realized the irony of her own words and continued to undress, which didn’t take long. She’d taken to wearing pants as little as possible, seeing as she was basically waddling everywhere at this point and pants just restricted her movement. She never thought she’d get so big, considering the fact that Doc Reid said the baby was a little smaller than he should be. It was nothing to worry about, apparently. He was still within safe parameters. But for such a tiny thing he sure knew how to take up space. Jessica was pretty sure her organs were permanently pancaked. 

A quick shower later Jessica’s headache hadn’t faded whatsoever. None of the weird essential oils Trish bought her worked, and a quick google search told her she wasn’t supposed to take the ibuprofen in her medicine cabinet. She realized with great regret that if she wanted any relief she’d have to find herself a drink or brave the storm and make a trip to the drug store. And she was  _ not  _ going to get a drink. 

The second Jessica stepped outside she was soaked to the bone, her boots long past being waterproof and her leggings offering no reprieve from the bitter chill of a New York storm. She gave up on her leather jacket a long time ago and had switched completely to oversized hoodies which, obviously, took on water like a boat with a hole. 

By the time she purchased a pregnancy safe pain medication from the drug store and was on her way home, she was fed up. Her head was killing her, her back ached like a bitch, she was cold, and her son was playing soccer with her ribs. 

She was walking as quickly as her condition allowed down the sidewalk when she felt a random gust of deliciously warm air. She turned toward the source of the breeze and was faced with a chapel she’d never noticed before. The plaque nailed near the door read  _ Clinton Church.  _

It was on her route home from the store and looked old as hell, so there was no way she hadn’t passed it before. But in all fairness, Jessica wasn’t one to seek out holy places on her daily commute. 

Someone with an umbrella quickly made their way down the chapel stairs and past Jessica, whispering a quick  _ excuse me  _ as they sidestepped around her. Jessica caught a glimpse of amber light and stained glass before the door clicked closed. 

Jessica didn’t know what exactly was compelling her; her exhaustion, her headache, the rain, or the fetus doing somersaults under her thrift store Columbia University hoodie. But something forced her into motion, and before she could stop herself she was climbing the chapel stairs and stepping inside. 

_ Fuck it. Maybe I’ll go have a convo with the man upstairs.  _

The church was almost empty; Jessica hadn’t expected it to be full on a weekday afternoon. An old woman praying over a rosary sat in a pew near the back, a younger man with his eyes trained on nothing in particular seated somewhere in the middle. Jessica made her way to the very front and dropped herself heavily onto the first pew. 

There were tables pushed up along the walls, each one covered in lit tea candles. The light of each flame was turning the room a dim orange. Skinny stained glass windows ran along the length of two walls. Each depicted Jesus, or Mary, or some Bible story that Jessica was sure she didn’t know in glittering color. 

The chapel doors opened behind her and Jessica turned to observe the newcomer. It was a tall, skinny woman in a tan pea coat. She had an umbrella hanging from a strap on her wrist, but obviously hadn’t bothered using it. Her strawberry blonde hair was about as drippy as Jessica’s. 

The woman made her way to the section of pews on the other side of the aisle. She sat down directly next to the young man, who didn’t seem to realize she’d arrived until she was peeling off her coat and putting a hand on his shoulder. The two of them shared a quick but emotion-filled hug and broke apart slowly enough for Jessica to get a good look at their faces. 

They were familiar. Something about the two of them was tickling Jessica’s memory. The fallen looks on their faces, like they’d both lost the same thing and knew it couldn’t be replaced. 

And then it came to Jessica in a flash; the day Midland Circle collapsed. Death day of Matthew Murdock, Attorney at Law. Seven weeks before Jessica realized she was pregnant. These two people were in the waiting room with Trish and Claire when Jessica, Luke, Danny and Colleen came back to the police station. 

Karen Paige, reporter, and Franklin “Foggy” Nelson, attorney. Best (and probably only) friends of Matthew Murdock. 

_ Shit.  _

Jessica tried her best to be as inconspicuous as possible as she listened in on their conversation, despite feeling and looking incredibly out of place. She felt like she was disturbing the piece, but neither Matt’s friends nor the old woman in the back paid her any mind. 

“I like coming here,” Karen said, head turned toward the opposite wall where another table of candles was situated. “It makes me feel closer to him, you know? Like he’s here.” 

Foggy nodded, wrapping a sympathetic arm around Karen’s shoulders. “Right. Like he’s somewhere in here, ready to pray and then do a quick wardrobe change before beating the hell out of someone in a dark alley.” 

Karen chuckled through her tears and slapped Foggy’s arm. “You can’t say stuff like that in a church, Fog.” 

Just her luck. The one day Jessica decides to walk into a church of her own accord,  _ literally  _ just for a reprieve from the rain, she waltzes into the church of her dead baby daddy. 

Of all the churches in Hell’s Kitchen, Jessica had to take refuge in the one that belonged to the Devil. 

She’d spent the last several months trying to not think about Matt Murdock, or how he’d died a horrible, painful, lonely death, or how he wasn’t going to be there to help raise their kid. She’d erased Murdock from her daily life as best she could, but it was hard to forget him when his legacy was giving her indigestion and back pain. 

Jessica realized early in the pregnancy that a part of her was mad at Matt. Like, really mad. Furious.  _ Chuck a glass bottle at a wall  _ furious. Because he’d tapped his way into her life with that cane of his that he didn’t actually need and left her pregnant and alone for the sake of being  _ heroic.  _ He just  _ had  _ to save the city instead of saving himself. Self sacrificial prick. He saved millions of lives, and all Jessica could think about was how  _ her  _ life had been flipped upside down. 

But the logical side of Jessica’s brain reminded her that Matt wouldn’t have gone willingly, had he been offered any other choice. He did what had to be done. He also didn’t know that their  _ fling  _ had become something a bit more heavy. The good Catholic man in him, the sheer  _ humanity  _ in him never would have left her and their son alone. 

Most of all, Jessica was scared. She was  _ so  _ scared. Terrified, really. How was she supposed to birth a child?  _ Raise  _ a child? Provide for a child? She forgot to feed  _ herself  _ sometimes. 

She didn’t know Matt Murdock well, had barely known him at all, really, but she wished he was alive. If not so he could have a full life, so he could help her raise the consequence of their actions. 

“What am I doing here?” Jessica whispered aloud, maybe a little too loud, not meaning for the words to escape. The walls were closing in around her. The candles on the tables were blindingly bright, somehow. The spiked pain in her head pulsed anew, and she knew she couldn’t stay another second in that cold wooden church pew. Matt’s ghost was all over this place. 

She threw her hood up, clutched her bag of medicine to her chest, and walked as quickly as possible toward the chapel doors before she could draw even more attention to herself. She felt Karen and Foggy’s eyes on her as she stomped her way down the aisle. Neither of them said anything, just watched the woman they didn’t know was pregnant with their dead friend’s child run out of the church like a bat out of hell. 


	8. Chapter Eight

Jessica’s water broke during the middle of her thirty seventh week. She was sitting in her desk chair trying to wrap up her most recent Hogarth assignment, which she’d been working on for weeks now, and suddenly something just...Didn’t feel right. 

Jessica pushed her chair away from her desk and looked down at her lap. Her apartment was dark, the night sky outside offering no natural light and her office space only lit by a few dim lamps, so looking at the tops of her black leggings revealed nothing. 

Until she stood up and turned and saw the puddle of wetness in her seat. She blinked at it once, twice. “Did I just piss myself?” 

Then something tugged and pulled in her abdomen, and she knew she had  _ not  _ pissed her pants. 

She’d had Braxton Hicks contractions a few weeks before— totally normal, according to her doctor, just the body’s way of preparing itself for labor. Those were roughly equivalent to period cramps and didn’t worsen with time, just bothered her for a while and then tapered off. 

_ This  _ particular sensation was not quite so mild. Jessica grabbed the back of her desk chair and squeezed until the pain passed, then went to her room in search of her phone. She found it buried within the blankets on her bed and immediately slammed Trish’s number in her contact list. 

“ _ Jessica? It’s almost midnight. What is it?”  _

“I think this little shit is ready to roll.” 

“ _ The baby? You’re in labor?”  _

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” 

“ _ But it’s too early, isn’t it? You’ve still got, like, another three weeks until your due date!”  _

_ “ _ I don’t think the kid knows that.” 

“ _ Are you really sure it’s-“  _

_ “ _ Trish, for the love of God, can you just help me get to the hospital?” 

“ _ Yeah, right. Okay. I’ll be there soon.”  _

Ten minutes later Trish pulled up to the curb outside of Jessica’s building. She honked twice, needlessly, because Jessica was outside before her car had even stopped moving. 

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road,” Jessica said unceremoniously, shoving her pre-packed hospital bag onto the floor of the car and reclining her seat back as far as it could go. The even tone of her words in no way reflected how utterly terrified she really was. 

This was it. The big day she’d been simultaneously looking forward to and dreading since Jessica realized she was pregnant all those months ago. She was finally about to meet her son, be able to see the tangible product of her strained sobriety and ridiculously overactive acid reflux. It was finally time to get some use out of that crib next to her bed, the one currently being used as storage for the baby blankets she’d  _ finally  _ learned how to knit. The stitching was crooked in some places, a little too tight or loose in others, but Jessica knew she’d made it with love and that’s all that really mattered. 

“How are you feeling?” Trish asked from the driver’s seat, eyes never leaving the city roads that were still bustling despite the late hour. It used to bother her, but Jessica was beginning to appreciate Trish’s Nascar driving tendencies. She was weaving in and out of traffic like there was a killer on her heels. 

Jessica breathed through the pain of what must have been a contraction, letting air in slowly through her nose and out her mouth. “Ready to pop.” 

“Seriously, Jess. Like, about everything. What’s going through your head?” 

Nothing and everything all at once. It was a modge podge of noise and pictures; the sound of the baby’s heartbeat on ultrasound, the color of soft red yarn. Liquor bottles shattering against brick walls. Crying, but Jessica wasn’t sure if it was hers or Karen Page’s from that day at the police station. Matt’s face without his little red glasses. The way Jessica’s brother, Philip, used to laugh when she would trip down the stairs at home. She always skipped the last step on accident and rolled her ankle when she was in a rush. She was thinking of things she saw every day alongside things she hadn’t thought about in years. 

“A little bit of everything. Hard to explain.” Another contraction rippled through her, and Jessica cut her sentence short so she could continue breathing carefully through her nose. 

Trish didn’t have to look over to feel the change in Jessica’s demeanor. “Right. Sorry. Almost there.” 

Not too much time passed before Jessica was ushered into the hospital and placed in a delivery room. Everything was a blur of pain and heart monitors and IVs and people telling her to  _ just breathe, Miss Jones. Breathe slow.  _

Doctor Reid from the clinic didn’t do deliveries, so Jessica was referred to a new OBGYN at the hospital a few weeks prior. She wished she could have stuck with her original doc, she was uncomfortable enough with the situation and would have liked the familiarity, but when it boiled down to it Jessica was just happy to have someone around who knew what they were talking about. It seemed that as soon as Jessica manhandled herself into the hospital bed she’d remembered every question she’d ever wanted to ask about her pregnancy, and tried asking the doctor all of them at once. The new doc took Jessica’s obvious nerves in stride and answered what she could in the time provided, but several of her explanations were interrupted by Jessica groaning and curling in on herself as another contraction made its way through. 

The second they’d been taken into the delivery room Trish had planted herself in the corner next to Jessica’s bed, opposite the side with the heart monitor and IV pole. It was obvious that she was nervous and trying to stay out of the way without straying too far from the center of the action. 

Luckily Trish was paying attention and had been able to ask the one question Jessica hadn’t managed to spit out. 

“This is too early, right? The baby’s coming too early?” 

The doctor nodded, taking another look at Jessica’s medical chart on the wall-mounted computer. “Three weeks early is usually what we consider a preemie. You’re delivering at two and a half, and it looks like baby’s a bit smaller than average, so yeah. I’d say it’s a little too soon. But nothing horribly severe.” 

Jessica asked about an epidural. The nurse, an older black woman with a kind smile named Narissa, just offered her a sympathetic look. “You’re moving along quickly. It’ll be time to start pushing soon. We might be too late. But let me talk to the doc and see what we can do.” 

The nurse came back a few minutes later looking particularly apologetic. “I’m so sorry, Miss Jones. When I last checked you were eight centimeters dilated, and your contractions are getting closer together. It takes fifteen minutes just to do the injection, not to mention—“ 

“ _ Please,”  _ Jessica said, “just lay it out for me.” 

“We don’t have time. Even if we did manage to do the injection before it was time to push, the medicine wouldn’t kick in soon enough to be useful.” 

Jessica blinked slowly. “So I have do this the old fashioned way. Like a pioneer woman in a log cabin on a mountain somewhere with no access to central heating or modern medical care.” 

If the nurse sensed Jessica’s rapidly declining mood, she didn’t show it. “Seems that way.” 

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

“People do it all the time. My sister gave birth to my nephew in the back of her Ford Excursion. Didn’t even make it to the hospital.” Jessica watched as the nurse walked around the room performing several last minute tasks. She unfolded the stirrups from the end of the bed. Grabbed a little blanket and hat and the tiniest diaper Jessica had ever seen from a cabinet and set it aside for later. She did some other stuff, too, all of it probably important, but Jessica was too focused on the sudden and all consuming pressure in her lower abdomen. 

“Narissa, this shit’s happening  _ now.”  _

And then Narissa poked her head out of the door and into the hallway, and the room began filling with the doctor and Narissa and another nurse and about three other people Jessica had never seen before, but who all stood around like they needed to be there. Someone measured her and confirmed that she was now fully dilated, which she could have just told them herself, but whatever. She was just ready to get the whole thing over with. 

Most of them acted like watching a super powered woman give birth was a daily occurance. Jessica had to give them all credit; no one flinched when she squeezed the bed rail so hard that the plastic of it cracked and crumbled under her enhanced strength. 

Later, after it was over and most of the pain had stopped and everything was suddenly much calmer without being calm at all, Jessica realized that they were probably going to bill her for the damages. 

But she forgot her worries almost immediately, because someone was crying. 

Her son. Jessica’s son was crying. 

Suddenly Narissa was walking forward with him and placing him on Jessica’s chest. The nurse wiped and dried him enough for both him and Jessica to be comfortable, then draped a clean blanket over both of them. 

Jessica was frozen. Completely and utterly locked in place as she watched this baby,  _ her  _ baby, wail its little heart out as it laid there on her chest, all soft and pink and small,  _ oh my god, he’s so small. Is he too small? He seems way too small. You should have stayed in there, longer, little guy. You needed more time.  _

_ But I’m glad you’re finally here. I’ve been so excited to meet you.  _

Jessica felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Trish with tears in her eyes. She was grinning bigger than her usual televised smile, her pearly white teeth peeking between her lips as she looked down at the baby. Now that the worst of it was over, she seemed a little less nervous and more willing to return to her and Jessica’s usual dynamic. “See, Jess? That wasn’t so bad.” 

Jessica used the hand not wrapped around the baby to flip a middle finger in Trish’s direction. “You try shoving a child out of you with no meds. Then talk to me about how it  _ wasn’t so bad.”  _

Jessica realized she wasn’t stuck in place anymore; she was, if very minutely, rocking her shoulders from side to side, doing her best to soothe the fussy newborn in her arms. He wasn’t screaming anymore, his cries diluted to a sort of quiet whine as he rested his head over Jessica’s sternum. She liked to think that he could hear her heart, that he knew it was his mom he was laying on, and calmed down because he felt safe. 

Because Jessica would keep him safe. It only took one look at the baby in her arms to realize that she’d fight her way through heaven and hell if it meant that her child never had to suffer. No one would lay a  _ hand  _ on him. If somebody  _ looked  _ at him wrong, Jessica would knock them flat without a second thought.  _ Motherly Rage, 1. Threat to the Child, 0.  _

Narissa and another one of the delivery nurses were bustling about the room, collecting soiled linens and helping Jessica get cleaned up and just generally getting things back in order. It was crazy how fast the previously overfull space emptied out. Once everything was back in its place and Jessica was situated with the baby, all wrapped up in that tiny diaper and sock cap and pressed against her chest, Narissa excused herself and said she’d be back soon to take him for his tests. “Just a hearing test,” she said. “We’ll do that, weigh him, the basic stuff. You’ll know about all of it before it happens. But I’m gonna give you some time with your little man. Just hit that call button if you need me, Miss Jones.” And then she was gone, and it was just Trish and Jessica and her son. 

Trish scooted her chair closer to the bed and lowered the guard rail so she could lean over the mattress. “He’s perfect, Jess.” 

The baby stayed very still as he snoozed, content from having been fed before the nurse left the room.  _ That  _ was something Jessica would have to get used to. His little arms were tucked into his chest. He smacked his lips, the lines of his mouth curving to form an O in his sleep. Jessica leaned down and placed a kiss on his forehead where dark tufts of hair poked out from beneath his hat. “Yeah. Yeah, he is.” 

Trish reached over and as gently as possible, laid a hand on him over the blanket draped across his back. Jessica could tell Trish was afraid of being too rough, and she couldn’t blame her. Jessica was the baby’s mother, and she was so afraid of her own strength that the muscles in her arms and hands were only tense enough to hold him securely to her.

“Have you thought about a name?” 

Jessica had, actually. But she hadn’t thought about saying it out loud until now. Earlier she was too busy being in pain to tell anyone about it, so focused on getting the kid  _ out  _ that she forgot that she couldn’t call him  _ the kid  _ forever. “Peter.” 

She’d decided on the name weeks ago, but it didn’t feel totally right until she said it out loud. “Peter Matthew Jones.” 

The surprise on Trish’s face was obvious. Jessica tried to not be offended by it. “Matthew? Really?” 

“Is there something wrong with naming the child after his father?” 

“No— no, Jess. You know that’s not what I meant. I just wasn’t sure exactly how open you’d be with him about his dad.” 

Jessica shrugged, trying her best not to jostle Peter. “It’s not like Matt bailed. The guy  _ died.  _ I don’t think there’s any harm in giving Peter something to remember him by.” 

She’d put a lot of thought into Murdock’s legacy and what it would mean for their son. His work as Daredevil was commendable but secret, and Jessica wasn’t sure she wanted Peter ever knowing about that side of his father. Matthew Murdock was a man born of grit and hellfire. Daredevil was a man born of grief and internalized pain pushed outward, everything Jessica didn’t want her son to be. She wanted to be honest with Peter about his dad and where he came from, and she felt like incorporating Matt into Peter’s name somewhere was a good start. If Peter always knew that Jessica only wanted the best for him (and that Matt would likely have given him the world) he’d always be one step ahead of his parents. He’d always know he was loved, and appreciated, and important, and that even if he strayed, he’d always have someone to come home to. 

“Peter. It’s classic. Has a nice ring to it.” Jessica huffed a laugh and looked up at Trish to give some sarcastic comment, but stopped short when Trish snapped the fingers of her free hand without actually making noise and nodded toward the baby. 

Jessica looked down and noticed Peter’s barely visible eyelashes fluttering. It was the first time she’d had a good look at his eyes since he was born, and she got unexpectedly choked up when she realized they weren’t  _ her _ eyes at all, but fully and wholeheartedly Matt Murdock’s. Still a little green, her own genes poking through, but speckled with bronze so thickly they could almost be considered brown. 

Peter didn’t squirm, just looked around slowly with unfocused eyes. Jessica tilted him back so she could get a good look at him and with an awareness he shouldn’t have had at two hours old, his eyes zoned in on her face like she was the only thing in the room. 

He blinked at her once. Then again, slowly. Like he was memorizing the shape of her, his mom. And then Peter’s eyes slipped closed again, and he was back to breathing slowly through his tiny nose. 

Jessica pulled him back toward her. She whispered as quietly as possible into the fabric of his cap, “ _ I love you so much, you little shit.”  _


	9. Chapter Nine

It was hospital protocol to hold Jessica and Peter for forty eight hours, but Peter ended up spending the second day and an extra third day in the NICU. The doctor said he was oddly healthy for being born at five pounds, nine ounces and almost three weeks early, much more resilient than other premature babies she’d seen, but she wanted to make sure he was carefully monitored for at least a couple days before going home. Just to be sure he was eating properly, keeping his body temp, that sort of thing. 

It was probably the worst forty eight hours of Jessica’s life. It  _ sucked.  _

The first night he was in the NICU Jessica was still a patient at the hospital, so she at least had a reason to be in the building with Peter and ask to see him often. But they discharged her after her own two days were up, and they kept Peter for another day. She was allowed to spend time with him, hold him, but she couldn’t stay in the NICU overnight. They said she could go home and get some sleep, or she could hang out in the waiting room. 

She stayed in the waiting room. 

She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, anyways. Not if Peter was in there and she wasn’t with him. Plus she still felt weird. From the birth, of course, but mentally. Like she  _ needed  _ to be near him. It was all probably because of hormones and exhaustion but she took it for what it was and when visiting hours at the NICU ended, she planted herself in the waiting room with her knitting needles and yarn and got to work on a new blanket. Peter didn’t need any more, she’d already made him way too many, but she needed something to do and she was tired of scrolling through her phone. She needed to feel productive. 

Jessica’s fingers started getting sore a few hours after midnight, so she conceded to the aching in her joints and stopped knitting long enough to take a look around the waiting room. 

Both the hallways leading to the NICU and the delivery rooms had their lights dimmed for the evening. The nurses’ station was empty except for one woman typing something into one of the computers. The others must have been out doing rounds. 

Jessica tucked her yarn and needles into her knitting bag and left them in her seat, grunting as she got out of her chair. She was still sore despite having given birth almost three days ago.  _ Who knew having a baby would be so painful?  _

She snorted quietly at her own idiocy and approached the nurses’ station. 

“Hi, I’m sorry to bother you. Do you know when the NICU opens for visitors?” Jessica had forgotten whether opening time was at eight or nine and had been waiting for the chance to ask someone. Peter was eating well on his own, so she didn’t get to feed him throughout the night. Instead they’d had her pump and were feeding him with that supply until they either ran out and needed her to pump more or he was released, which was supposed to be some time tomorrow morning. 

The nurse didn’t respond for a moment, finishing whatever she was typing before looking up from the keyboard. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure. I came up from the ER, I’m just finishing up some paperwork for a patient I dropped off— oh my gosh, Jessica?” 

The second Jessica made eye contact with the nurse, she mentally slapped herself in the face. How had she not recognized her sooner? It was obviously Claire Temple, blue scrubs and short hair loose around her face giving her away. “Claire! Oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m totally out of it.” 

“It’s that time of night, I guess. I think we all are. No worries. How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in months.” 

Jessica had to resist the urge to laugh out loud. She’d run into Claire a couple times since Midland Circle because of Luke, but other than that she hadn’t made an effort to really reach out. A lot’s happened since the last time they spoke. “I’ve been...going. I’m alive. That’s good I guess.” 

Claire really did laugh, all pretty smiles and squinty eyes. Jessica could tell why Luke liked her. “Yeah, I’d say being alive is a sweet deal.” She closed out whatever tab she’d been in on the computer and stood up from her chair, preparing to walk away from the nurses’ station. I better get back downstairs. I know for a fact they’re busier down there than they are up here.” 

Jessica only nodded. She was still stunned that she’d managed to run into Claire of all people while her own son, whom she hadn’t told anyone about, including her or Luke Cage, was just down the hall. “Sure, sure.” Jessica stepped out of the way so Claire could pass and watched as and started walking back toward the elevator. 

“It was great seeing you,” Claire said as she poked the  _ down  _ button next to the elevator. 

“Yeah, you too,” Jessica said. “Tell Luke I said hey.” 

Claire stepped into the now open elevator. “I will.” For a second Jessica thought she was gone, but just as the doors started closing, a hand popped out between them and they opened again. Claire poked her head out and looked Jessica up and down; not in a rude way. She just looked curious. Like she was making sure Jessica was still in one piece. “If you don’t mind me asking, Jessica, why are you here?” 

Jessica froze immediately, torn between telling the truth or making up  _ some  _ excuse to try and explain why she was hanging out in the waiting room of the hospital Labor and Delivery floor. She cycled through dozens of possibilities in the span of a few seconds and nothing that crossed her mind sounded remotely believable. She was going to have to tell the truth. 

“My son’s in the NICU.” Suddenly, once she’d finally spit it out, Jessica wasn’t worried about Claire knowing. She had a  _ kid  _ now. And she would be taking care of that kid for the next couple decades. She couldn’t hide Peter forever. Didn't  _ want  _ to hide Peter forever. He wasn’t some embarrassing bastard child. He was Jessica’s son, and she loved him, and she knew anyone else that saw his crazy newborn hair and wide little nose (Matt’s nose, for sure) would love him too. 

Claire didn’t say anything at first. Just opened her mouth like she was going to speak, then shut it again, then stepped out of the elevator and let the doors close behind her. “ _ You had a kid?”  _

Jessica just nodded. “I guess it would be three days ago now.” 

“Oh my goodness, Jessica! Congratulations!” Claire pulled her in for a quick but firm hug, and for once Jessica didn’t shy away from the affection. She hadn’t gotten the chance to see anyone be excited about the baby right off the bat. Even Trish had been hostile when she first found out. Claire’s enthusiasm was a little infectious. 

Though as soon as Claire pulled away Jessica couldn’t help but think about how Claire had known Matt, too, had watched as that building fell on top of him. And Claire didn’t know that Peter already looked so much like him, a miniature version of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

Jessica had no idea what came over her, but suddenly she was compelled to tell the entire truth. She didn’t know whether it was her own guilt or the smile on Claire’s face, but she couldn’t stand withholding any more information. She was so secretive about the whole pregnancy. She hadn’t reached out to any of the other Defenders or Matt’s friends and it was hitting her all at once how  _ tiring  _ that had been. So without much pretense Jessica cracked a few knuckles to dispel some of her nerves and said, “Matt Murdock’s the father.” 

Claire’s eyebrows dipped in the middle, she fully stepped away from the elevator, and she walked right past the nurse’s station and started making her way down the hall that led to the NICU. 

She stopped and turned once she realized Jessica wasn’t following her. “Well come on,” she said, then took off down the hall again. 

Jessica left her belongings in the empty waiting room and took off after Claire as fast as her sore body would allow. She caught up with her outside the large window that looked into the NICU. 

Claire’s eyes were trained on the incubators and bassinets lined up inside, as if she could point out Jessica’s baby thorough force of will alone. “You have a son,” she said, “who is in there.” 

Jessica just nodded. 

“And Matt is the father.” 

Jessica nodded again. “That would be the case, yes.” 

“When? Does— did he know?” 

“No. It, uh, all happened right before Midland Circle. By the time I found out he was long gone.” 

“Jesus. Does Foggy know? Karen Paige?” 

Jessica was looking through the NICU window, now. Her eyes were drawn to the left side, to an open bassinet near the soft blue painted wall, and Jessica knew it was Peter. As soon as Jessica realized she was looking at her son one of the nurses inside the room started walking toward him. He must have just started crying. Jessica felt her heart clench in her chest. It was well past visiting hours, but maybe if she begged they’d let her in to see him. “Nobody but my sister. And you, I guess.” 

“Jessica.” Claire’s voice was even, but soft. Jessica steeled herself for the impending anger. “I’m so sorry.”

It was so far beyond what Jessica thought Claire was going to say that she looked away from the NICU window, where the nurse who’d gone to Peter was now feeding him with a premade bottle. “You’re what?” Jessica asked a little too aggressively. She didn’t mean to be rude; she was just in shock. 

Claire didn’t seem to take Jessica’s cold tone to heart. “You had a  _ baby.  _ And you did it alone.”

Jessica had never been good at accepting affection  _ or  _ sympathy. Claire seeped both relentlessly. She was a bleeding heart and Jessica was a dry corpse. She could only shrug and act going through most of a pregnancy by herself hadn’t been terrifying. “It was what it was.” 

Claire pursed her lips, but didn’t say anything else. Jessica was glad. She didn’t know how much more she could handle. 

“Is that him?” Claire asked, nodding her head in the direction of the nurse in the NICU. She must have seen Jessica staring. Peter had finished his bottle and the nurse had him leaned against her shoulder, burping him ever so gently as she rocked back and forth. 

“Yeah, that’s him.” 

“What’s his name?” 

“Peter. Matthew. Peter Matthew Jones.” 

Claire smiled. “I didn’t take you as the type to pass on a family name,” she said. There was no malice in her words. Just curiosity. 

“I was feeling sentimental, I guess.” 

“If it means anything, I like it. And I think Matt would have liked it too.” 

“Thanks, Claire.” 

Both of them stood in the hallway silently, just watching as Peter was rocked back to sleep. His swaddled form almost disappeared as he was placed back in his bassinet, just his silhouette visible. The nurse reattached the wire leads that read his heart rate and blood pressure. 

Claire finally broke the silence. “Do you  _ want  _ Foggy and Karen to know?” 

It was a valid question, one Jessica had thought about several times over. None of her options seemed great. Hiding Peter from people who would love him seemed cruel to him  _ and  _ them, but showing up at their doorsteps and claiming to have been hiding their dead best friend’s son from them seemed just as wrong. 

“I don’t know,” Jessica admitted. “Would them knowing make a difference? Murdock’s still dead.” 

“Yeah, he is. But Karen and Foggy knew him best. If you want Peter to know anything about his dad, they’d be great people for him to have around. Not to mention the fact that they’d adore him.” 

“I just…” Jessica stumbled over her own words, and Claire waited patiently for her to collect her thoughts. “I feel like I’ve already fucked it up. Waited too long.”

“I don’t think they’d mind. They’re good company. They’d understand.” Claire paused. “But Jessica, you don’t have to be alone anymore if you don’t want to be. You’ve got people in your corner. Me, Luke. I bet the others would say the same.” 

Jessica nodded, her arms crossed. “I-I know.” 

Claire reached over to firmly squeeze Jessica’s shoulder. “I’ve got to get back downstairs. But seriously, Jessica. Reach out if you're struggling, okay?” 

“Okay, yeah. I’ll do that. And thanks, Claire.” 

And then Claire was gone and it was just Jessica in the hall, staring through the window and trying to get a glimpse of Peter. “A few more hours, buddy. And then we can go home.” 


	10. Chapter Ten

Life with a newborn was both everything and nothing like Jessica expected it to be. 

As far as the physical side of things went, Peter was a newborn through and through. Always shitting, always sleeping, always hungry. He was also  _ always  _ crying, enough for Jessica to think something might be seriously wrong. He didn’t have symptoms that lined up with colic, and he was a little too young for it anyways, according to Google, so Jessica took him to the doctor only a few days after he was released from the NICU. The doc did a full work up and said she saw nothing wrong. She suggested that there was a very good chance Jessica had just gotten the short end of the stick and ended up with a particularly fussy baby. 

Just her luck.  _ She  _ ended up with the baby that never stops screaming. 

Emotionally, Jessica’s own life had flipped completely upside down. Being pregnant and feeling a connection to the baby was one thing. Seeing the  _ result  _ of the pregnancy was a completely different situation. Every time Peter fluttered his stubby little eyelashes, or his tiny fingers wrapped around one of hers, or his nose scrunched up how it always did before he started crying, Jessica’s heart melted in a way she never would have thought possible before he was born. It was like every switch within her flipped from Cold Hard Bitch to Cold Hard Mother at the drop of a hat. She would do anything for that baby. Give him anything he wanted, no questions asked. 

She hadn’t expected life with a baby to be easy, much less life as a single mother. But the internet never could have prepared her for how her daily routine would change. She went from sleeping from two in the morning until noon and drinking in between, to waking up every couple hours from about seven at night to sunrise. And she did it sober, which in reality was probably much easier than it would be under the influence but also much less fun. Unsweet tea was not nearly as good as whisky when it came to drowning her sorrows. 

Jessica didn’t sleep when the baby slept. She pumped and prepared bottles and washed burp rags. When she needed a shower, she’d do it after Peter was down for the night and she knew she’d have some time before he woke up again, baby monitor carefully balanced on the sink ledge next to her, or she’d ask Trish to come over and keep an eye on him for a few minutes. Trish had been great, helping Jessica and Peter get to doctor’s appointments and running to the store for them, that sort of thing, but her own busy work schedule kept her from being around as much as either of them would have liked. 

Exactly one week after Peter was born, Jessica was startled awake before sunrise by the sound of Peter’s piercing cry coming from the crib next to her bed. 

He'd already been fussy the previous evening and had had a hard time getting to sleep, which meant Jessica hadn’t gotten much rest either. Needless to say, she wasn’t in the best mood when she woke up. It was made worse when she realized that the tenants above her were fighting again. She could hear them stomping around and screaming incoherently. The distinct sound of a glass bottle shattering permeated the loud voices. They’d likely been the reason Peter woke up, seeing as his diaper was dry (Jessica had just changed it a couple hours before) and he’d rejected her when she tried to feed him. 

Peter usually responded well to being rocked and walked at the same time, so Jessica slowly moseyed around the apartment with Peter in her arms to try and soothe him back to sleep. She had yet to sing to him; she’d never been one for singing, and even if she was she didn’t know many lullabies, but sometimes she’d hum under her breath. Just enough for him to feel the vibrations when he was leaned up against her. 

Jessica knew she was tired,  _ exhausted _ , actually, but didn’t realize it until she’d been pacing for twenty minutes and the volume of Peter’s screaming was finally starting to lessen. Her legs felt like jello. Her back was tight. Her boobs hurt. Her eyelids felt so, so heavy. 

But her exhaustion was staged off by a wave of pure, unfathomable, undiluted  _ rage _ when the upstairs neighbors started yelling again and Peter’s crying started itself anew. 

Jessica growled in a way that would have scared anyone who didn’t know her. She leaned against the entryway into her kitchen, right hand wrapped around Peter and left grasping the drywall. 

“Are you  _ fucking kidding me?”  _ She said through clenched teeth. “Are you  _ fucking serious?  _ I finally get this  _ little fucker  _ to sleep and you  _ absolute fucking idiots  _ wake him up?!” 

And without much thought or pretense, Jessica tensed and squeezed the hand she had on the wall. 

The drywall cracked and caved beneath her superpowered grip, bits of plaster and dust sprinkling to the floor. 

Suddenly the fighting from upstairs didn’t matter anymore. Nor did the ache in her bones or the pile of dishes in the kitchen sink or the full basket of laundry in her bedroom. 

The only thing that mattered was the small pile of crumbled drywall on the floor. That she’d destroyed with one of her own bare hands. 

And one of those hands, one of those dangerously strong hands, was wrapped around her son. 

Jessica had never moved so fast in her life. Before she could blink she’d laid Peter down in the middle of his crib and stepped back, like her very presence might be damaging him somehow. Her heart was pounding in her ears. Peter was still crying. She felt like maybe, somehow, he could tell how shaken his mother was. She hated to put him on edge, but suddenly she felt like she was drowning. 

Jessica ripped her phone off its charger and frantically scrolled through her contact list. She heard the plastic backing of the device creak in her grasp, but she took a few deep breaths to keep from completely destroying the thing and managed to make her call go through. The line only rang a couple times before the person on the other end of the call picked up. 

_ “Jessica? Is everything alright?”  _

“Claire, I, uh—“ 

Claire’s tone had started out light, if not a little confused as to why Jessica was calling her in the middle of the night, but her demeanor audibly shifted when she heard the panic in Jessica’s voice.  _ “Are you and Peter alright?”  _

“Would you mind coming over? Maybe? Please, I just...Please.” 

“Yeah, my shift at the hospital just ended. I’m on my way, okay? Do you need me to stay on the line?” 

Jessica shook her head, then realized Claire couldn’t see her. “No. I just need somebody here that isn’t me.” 

If Jessica’s words confused her, Claire didn’t make it obvious. “Alright, unlock the door for me. Be there soon.” 

Claire arrived about twenty minutes later. She was still in her hospital scrubs when she walked through the door and some part of Jessica felt bad for keeping her from going home after what was probably a long shift, but her own unease was winning over the rational parts of her brain. 

Claire set her bag down in the living room and followed Jessica into her bedroom. “Alright, what’s going on?” 

Jessica swallowed against the dryness in her mouth. “I was holding him. Trying to get him back to sleep. And the neighbors upstairs were being  _ so  _ loud and they kept waking him back up and I just got so mad, and I was holding Peter, and I took a chunk out of the fucking wall…”

Jessica didn’t finish, couldn’t spit out what she wanted to say, but the intensity of Claire’s gaze made her think that the nurse was picking up what she was putting down. She just nodded and immediately went to the crib. Without picking Peter up she unwrapped his swaddle and unbuttoned his onesie, the Mickey Mouse one Trish had gotten him, pulling each snap open with speed and precision. “Jessica, go get my stethoscope and my light from my bag. Stethoscope is in the main compartment and the light’s in the side pocket.” 

Jessica did as she was asked and came back in with the instruments seconds later. She watched in tense anticipation as Claire listened to Peter’s heart, his lungs. Shined the light in his eyes, which made him whine in a way that made Jessica want to cry. 

Once she was happy with whatever results she’d gotten from her preliminary look-over, Claire pulled him from the crib and laid him on Jessica’s bed, turning him over to get a clear look at his entire form. Her hands gently ran up his sides and down his arms and legs, around the crown of his head. 

Finally, after several minutes of tense anticipation, Claire started putting Peter back in his onesie. “No obvious damage, and he didn’t fuss or wiggle when I felt around for injuries. Pupils react to light well. Breathing and heart sound great. He’s perfectly fine.” 

Jessica never thought such simple words could make the tension seep out of her joints. Peter was okay. She didn’t hurt him. He’s okay. He’s fine.  _ He’s fine he’s fine he’s fine. _

Jessica rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands. “If I’d hurt him, Claire, I don’t know what I would have done.” 

“You’d have done the right thing and called someone, like you did just now.” Claire reswaddled Peter and put him back down in his crib. He wasn’t crying anymore. Jessica could see his little chest expand and deflate within his blanket. He must have finally worn himself out. 

“Why don’t you get some sleep, Jess? I’ll be on baby duty.” 

“I can’t ask you to do that, Claire, I’ve already kept you from going home-“ 

“I wasn’t really asking.  _ Go to bed, Jessica. _ Get a few hours of solid shuteye. You’re worn out and anxious and it’s got you at the end of your rope. That doesn’t do you or Peter any good. We don’t want a repeat of tonight, right? No more destroying walls.” 

Jessica wanted so badly to protest the idea of someone offering to assist her, of offering her the help she knew she needed but had never wanted to take in the past. But the thought of a few consecutive hours of rest was much too tempting, and she was folding herself beneath her bedcovers barely a minute later. “There’s, uh, coffee in the far left cabinet in the kitchen. It’s old, but it’s coffee, so it’s probably fine. And his milk’s in the fridge, pumped some earlier, so if he wakes up you just gotta-“ 

Claire slipped her shoes off and walked out of the bedroom, then walked back in with her phone and some novel Jessica couldn’t read the name of from her angle in the bed. She watched drowsily as the nurse leaned against the headboard and made herself comfortable on the side of the mattress nearest the crib and cracked open her book. Claire looked perfectly at home in Jessica’s apartment; an odd sight, since Jessica herself barely felt at home in it sometimes. Claire was a master at adapting immediately to almost any situation, a result of her medical training and go-with-the-flow personality. “I know how to warm up a bottle. And I’ll raid your cabinets, don’t worry. Now  _ sleep.  _ Peter and I will be here when you wake up.” 

Jessica didn’t need to be told twice. She flipped onto her side, pulled the covers up to her chin, and got the best sleep she’d had in the last seven days. 


	11. Chapter Eleven

One month after Peter’s birth, Jessica started working again. 

She’d taken her first three weeks with Peter off, using money she’d stockpiled over the last several months to cover rent and grocery expenses. But her funds were running low, and babies were  _ pricey,  _ so she decided it might be time to revert to her old routine. Not entirely; there’s no way she could work her old hours with Peter being so young, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. The days she’d gotten to spend with him, even if many of them were tense and exhausting and nerve wracking, had been some of the best days of her life. She wouldn’t have traded them for anything. After having so much time to be with him and having her primary focus be his welfare, the thought of not spending every waking moment catering to his happiness was borderline painful. 

But she had to face the music; the money would run out. She needed to start bringing in paychecks again. Jessica started taking simple client requests and reached out to Hogarth to ask if she had any low-profile work for her. After a couple days of looking Jessica found herself some smaller projects that would help cushion the financial blow of having a newborn, just enough to keep her focus mainly on Peter but ease her mind and her bank account. 

She set up Peter’s portable bassinet next to her desk so she could keep an eye on him. She had a baby monitor, so she technically could have just left him in his crib next to her bed, but she felt guilty enough working when she was supposed to be his main source of entertainment. She wasn’t going to make Peter be alone in the other room. Besides, she liked watching him nap. Watching the way his tiny little form shifted within his swaddle as he dozed off, how he got extra squirmy when he was waking up. 

Today, though, he was being extra bossy, and every time Jessica tried to lay him in the bassinet he’d start crying. It wasn’t a distress cry like his nighttime fits usually were; it was more of a drowsy fuss.  _ You’re gonna hold me, mom, or I’m gonna complain about it.  _ She resorted to unswaddling him and bundling him up in a soft black onesie and the devil horned knit hat that Trish had gotten him. The windows in her office area never closed properly and it was often quite drafty, especially now that the weather had gone cold. She didn’t want him to be chilly. 

He was still a little smaller than other babies his age, but the doctor said he was on track to catch up in weight in the next few months. For the time being, though, many of his onesies were just a bit too big and their sleeves went past the palms of his hands. Just the tips of his fingers were visible this time as Jessica slipped him beneath the neck of her sweater so he could lay directly against her chest. 

The two of them spent most of the morning that way, Jessica leaned back as far as her desk chair would allow and typing on the computer with one hand so Peter would be comfortable and secure. It was rainy outside. Peter usually dozed on days like this. Jessica thought he might like the sound of the water hitting the window panes. 

Jessica had just wrapped up one of her smaller, few-day cases. An overbearing parent wanted to know where her nineteen year old daughter  _ really  _ went on the weekends when she said she was going to her friend’s house. Turns out she was staying at a cabin a couple hours upstate with a guy ten years older than her— It was a miracle she hadn’t been kidnapped. All Jessica had to do was create a fake Snapchat posing as a girl from the daughter’s high school, friend the daughter, and then watch the Snap Map when she left town. It was just a matter of watching her bitmoji travel up one of the main New York highways in a tiny digital car, and stop at some rural location next to a huge lake. The second she posted a picture of herself and her man and tagged the sugar daddy in the post, which read “ _ Came back to my fav place with my fav guy,”  _ Jessica knew she wasn’t in any real danger. 

She closed her computer with a triumphant sigh, trying not to jostle the sleeping baby cradled in her arm and against her chest, just as someone knocked on the glass of her front door. 

“ _ Shit,”  _ she whispered quietly, trying to decide whether to get up and answer it or see if whoever was on the other side would give up and go away. 

It wouldn’t be Trish; Trish always told Jessica when she was coming. Plus she was working late today, something to do with a bonus special for her radio show, so Jessica wasn’t expecting her until tomorrow. And it wasn’t Claire; it was barely noon. She’d still be asleep after working all night. So who was it? 

The decision was made for her when they knocked again, this time just a bit louder, and Peter started shuffling around under Jessica’s sweater. She readjusted him and stood from her desk chair slowly. She’d become a pro at rocking and walking over the last few weeks, and was bouncing back and forth carefully to make sure Peter didn’t stir again as she approached the entryway. 

“What,” Jessica whispered to the visitor as she opened the door, formed as more of a statement than a question. 

Her eyes were focused on the baby in her arms, so she wasn’t looking at the visitor head on when they said, very carefully, “Jessica.” 

Something...wasn’t right with the voice. Or something was very right. Either way, Jessica could feel it in her bones. 

Her eyes started at the stranger’s feet, clad in a pair of tennis shoes soaked from the rain outside. The shoes led to a simple pair of black joggers, then to a grey hooded sweatshirt, then to the raised hood, also wet with raindrops, and then to the face  _ below  _ the hood, and then Jessica realized this stranger wasn’t a stranger at all, and if she was any less aware of herself she might have dropped the baby. 

Because standing directly in front of her, looking way too casual and a little nervous and  _ very much alive,  _ was Matthew. Fucking. Murdock. 

Jessica did the only thing she could think to do; she stepped back inside and slammed the door in his face. 

The noise startled Peter and he immediately started crying. But Jessica was too busy panicking to really process it. 

Surely it wasn’t  _ really  _ Murdock. It was someone that looked like him. Or it was someone playing a cruel joke. Or it was a Super who could manipulate their appearance, and for some reason, they had it out for Jessica Jones. (That one was sort of believable. A  _ lot  _ of people had it out for Jessica Jones. And after seeing what Killgrave had been capable of, Jessica never underestimated the capacity of other Supers’ powers.)

But nobody knew about her and Matt except Trish and Claire. Trish wouldn’t do something like this, and neither would Claire, and neither woman was capable of doing anything so realistic. 

“Jessica? Are you okay? I can hear you, you kinda sound like you’re freaking out.” 

Great. This guy could hear her hyperventilating through the door. 

She didn’t know what to do. Open it and face him head on? Not with Peter in harm’s way. She scrambled back to the bedroom and carefully laid him in his crib, still wailing, then grabbed the spare baby monitor and shoved it in the waistband of her leggings before returning to the front door. It’s not like she needed it; it was obvious Peter was awake and upset, if his screaming was any indication. Grabbing the monitor was force of habit. 

Jessica tried to compose herself. She took a deep breath, wrapped her hand around the knob and ripped the door open, shoving the man further into the hallway beyond the apartment. The door slammed behind her as she stepped out to greet him. 

Her fist was wrapped up in the still-wet fabric of his hoodie. “Who.  _ The fuck.  _ Are you.” 

“It’s me, Jessica. It’s really me.” 

“Prove it.” 

“How?” 

“Hell, I don’t know.  _ Somehow.  _ Say  _ something  _ before I shatter your nose so thoroughly that pieces of it end up in your brain.” 

“Okay, um, uh— you have a couch in the corner of your apartment. An old one. Kinda smells like mildew.” 

Jessica ignored the jab at her furniture and just shook her head. She didn’t miss the way the man’s eyes never met hers, always aimed at the floor or looking just past her like she didn’t exist. “Not good enough. Any client or stalker would know that. Give me something else.” 

“I don’t  _ know,  _ Jessica. But it’s  _ really  _ me. It’s Matt.” 

“Matt Murdock is dead.” 

She shoved him back another step. Some of his hoodie seams popped under the intensity of her grip. She was braless _ ,  _ barefoot, and hadn’t showered in two days, but her  _ son  _ was inside the apartment, and no one was getting near him if she wasn’t sure of their intentions. 

The man in the hoodie finally seemed to start picking up on Jessica’s panic. He didn’t try to fight back, probably knew that doing so would only make things worse for him, but he was quickly becoming much less calm. “Uh, Midland Circle! I stayed behind to keep Elektra occupied while everyone got out-“ 

Jessica stopped pushing him backward but didn’t let go. Her skin was white around her knuckles. 

“The building fell. It hurt.  _ A lot.”  _

Jessica still didn’t move. She could hear Peter crying through the baby monitor. She had a feeling this guy could too. 

“I told Danny Rand something. R-right before you guys walked out. I told him to protect my city.” 

The look on Danny’s face came back to Jessica clearly. He’d hated having to be the one to deliver Matt’s last words.  _ Matt said something before he told us to leave. He said, ‘Protect my city.’ _

Jessica let go of Matt’s sweatshirt like she’d been burned, her hands drawing back toward her but not close enough to leave her unguarded. “Start talking.  _ Now.  _ Or I swear to God, I’ll turn you into a puddle.” 

Matt held his hands out in front him, palms open and fingers splayed. “That’s what I’m trying to do. But can we do it somewhere more private?” 

“Why?” 

“C’mon, Jessica, you know why.” 

“There’s nobody out here with us. Just say it.” 

“Jessica,  _ please.”  _

Matt was still a little tense; he was always a little tense. It was in his nature. But hiding beneath the tension were genuine nerves. He was just as uncomfortable as she was. (Okay, maybe not  _ quite  _ as uncomfortable as her. She had  _ so  _ many reasons to be uncomfortable.) Without his little red glasses Jessica was able to get a good look at his eyes. Wide with uncertainty, unfocused as always. And green, borderline brown, just like his son’s. 

Jessica sighed deeply. She stewed in self pity for a moment,  _ Why am I always getting dealt a shitty hand,  _ and backed up toward the door to her apartment. Her hand laid hesitantly on the knob. “Go inside. Sit on the couch. If you move, you’re dead.” 

“Fine. That’s fine.” 

Jessica followed Matt into the apartment, shutting and bolting the door behind them. Matt paused a few steps in and tilted his head in that way he always did when he was listening for something. He probably didn’t need to focus very hard; Peter was howling like a coyote. Jessica instantly felt guilty for leaving him alone so long. 

“The couch, Murdock,” she said sternly, shoving past him to make her way to the bedroom. 

She took her time with Peter as an apology; feeding him, burping him, changing him, rocking him. She had no idea how long she’d kept Matt waiting and she didn’t really care. She didn’t want to leave her bedroom, anyways. If she did she’d have to try and process the fact that her _supposedly dead_ baby daddy was sitting in her office, alive and well. Not to mention he’d definitely heard Peter having a breakdown. Peter, the son he had that he probably didn’t know existed.

Steeling herself for the incoming interaction, Jessica carefully arranged Peter against her with an arm, one of his hand-knitted blankets draped over him, and she walked out of her bedroom and into the office. She opted for the chair behind her desk opposed to the open cushion next to Matt. He didn’t seem to care. He also didn’t complain about her ignoring him for the last half hour or so. Only Matthew Murdock would get left alone in a room for a stupid amount of time and not complain about it. 

Matt readjusted himself on the sofa and cleared his throat. “I bet you have questions.” 

Jessica scoffed. “Your intuition knows no bounds.” 

“Seriously. Ask whatever’s on your mind.” 

“I’d rather you just start from the beginning. I’ll interrupt when I feel like it.” 

And he did start from the beginning- how he woke up in an infirmary surrounded by nuns, one of whom was his long lost mother, which was a whole side story in itself. He spent months healing and training and trying to get a hold on his powers again. Karen and Foggy didn’t even know he was alive until a few months ago. He’d been working to take down Wilson Fisk, again, and he thinks he’s close. Very close. 

“And now I’m here,” he said to finish his story, motioning with one hand to the apartment at large. “Because I figured you deserved to know I wasn’t dead.” 

“Why, because we slept together once?” The comment came out much more bitter than Jessica meant for it to. Matt frowned a little. 

“No, not necessarily-“

“Nevermind. Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.” 

“-but that might have been part of it.” 

Jessica blinked. Peter let out a little huff against her shoulder, and she was inclined to do something similar.  _ Is this guy serious?  _

“I swear to you, I never assumed that you sat around mourning me or anything.” 

_ Only when I’d feel Peter kick in the middle of the night and realize I’d be raising him alone.  _

“Why now, though? Why come here at all?” 

“I don’t know, some part of me just felt like I needed to.” 

Jessica was mad. Raging, really. She could practically feel her blood boiling in her veins. But not at Matt. She knew his current situation wasn’t totally his fault. She also knew that, even though he’d been up and walking around for several months now, as far as he knew, he had no obligation to her. They’d hooked up once and that was it. He’d had no reason to stop by. 

So no, she wasn’t mad at Matt for showing up a month after Peter was born. She was mad at fate, at the world, at God, at whoever was in charge of this shitshow. Because now she had an impossible choice to make. She’d spent the last several months steeling herself for a life of single-motherhood. But now the father of her child was there, on her couch. Did she tell him the truth? That Peter was his and he needed to get his ass in gear if he was going to make up for all of their lost time? Or did she let him go like she’d originally planned? 

“Jessica, can I ask you a question?” 

“You can try.” 

Matt scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Why’re you holding a baby?” 

“Ah. So you noticed.” 

“The screaming coming from your bedroom earlier? Yeah, I noticed.” Matt paused. “I‘ve been hearing two heartbeats since I got here. Yours, and a quieter, faster one. Which means it’s smaller. Hence, there’s a baby.” He had the audacity to smile. It could barely be classified as such, just the corners of his lips upturned in that crooked way they always were, but it definitely wasn’t a frown. “Also, you smell like baby soap.” 

“Maybe I just like baby soap. It’s very gentle, you know.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” 

For a moment, Jessica wished she were Peter. Asleep, free of responsibility, and unaware of the tension quickly thickening in the air. Jessica felt like she was about to light a match in a room full of gas. “I’ve got something to tell you, Matt.” 

So she told him. And he sat and listened with his lips slightly parted and his eyes distant. They were almost trained on Jessica, on the baby in her arms, like he’d be able to push past his blindness and see his son if he just wanted it badly enough. 

“That,” Matt said very, very slowly, “is my son.” 

Jessica nodded, then realized Matt couldn’t see her and cleared her throat. “Yes. He’s yours.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“Matthew Murdock, if I didn’t have a sleeping baby in my arms, I would punch you so fucking hard.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that, Jessica. I just…” He looked like he was about to break down. Crying or screaming, Jessica didn’t know. “H-how old is he?” 

“One month today.” 

“One month,” Matt repeated, mouthing the words silently a few more times to get a feel for them. “My son is one month old.” 

“Peter.” 

Matt looked toward her again. “What?” 

“I named him Peter.” 

“I like it.” 

“Peter Matthew.” 

“ _ Jessica.”  _

“Don’t get a big head about it. I thought you were dead. I figured having a little bit of his dad with him couldn’t hurt.” 

“I can’t...God, Jessica, I’m  _ so sorry.”  _

Jessica frowned. “What? Why?” 

Matt sat up straighter on the couch and leaned toward her. “Because I wasn’t here! Because you had to go through it all alone! I missed— I missed  _ everything.  _ I have a son, and he was going to have to grow up without me.” 

“Wait wait wait.  _ Was  _ going to grow up without you?” 

Matt nodded. “Well, yeah. I’m here now, aren’t I? I can’t just pretend I don’t have a child. I want to be there for him.” 

“ _ You do?”  _

“You sound surprised,” Matt said, sounding a little offended. 

“Forgive me if I didn’t expect to co-parent. I’ve been getting used to the idea of having a dead baby daddy for the last ten months or so.” 

“But I’m not dead. And...And I’d like to be in his life, if you’ll let me.” 

Jessica took some time to look at Matt. To  _ really  _ look at him. His seemingly permanent five o-clock shadow. His joggers and his hoodie and the lean form he hid underneath. This was a man who’d seen his own fair share of wars. He’d been left behind and trampled on for most of his life. He had no reason to trust anyone but himself. But here he was, offering up his life to a child he’d never even seen. 

Jessica knew at that moment that she had to let Matt be involved. He was a good enough man on the outside to offer to step away, to let her raise Peter without intervention, but Jessica knew he was an even  _ better  _ man on the inside. Walking away from Peter would eat him up with guilt. He’d never make it. 

Jessica didn’t think she’d be able to make it, either. What kind of mother was she if she didn’t try to give her son a relationship with his father? 

“Yeah, Matt. I’ll let you.” 

The air was still thick, but it wasn’t with tension. It was with implicit meaning. Jessica Jones and Matt Murdock had just established that they’d be spending quite a bit of time together from here on out. 

The rain was still pouring down outside, filling the silence in the apartment. Neither Jessica or Matt really knew where to go from here. 

“What does he look like?” Matt asked. “Peter, I mean.” 

“You can’t tell with those powers of yours?” 

“I have heightened senses and good spatial awareness. But I’m still  _ blind.  _ I can’t see any more than you can walk through walls-“ 

“Fine, I get it. Dumb question. Sorry.” Jessica brought Peter down from where he was propped near her shoulder so she could get a better look at him. “Well he’s small, for starters. Just under six pounds when he was born. More than that, now, but still teensy tiny.” Jessica ran her thumb across the back of one of Peter’s little hands. It was so soft, so unlike her own. “Head of dark hair. That could have been from either of us, honestly.”  _ Us.  _ Jessica never thought she’d be referring to an  _ us  _ when it came to Peter’s lineage. She thought she was alone. 

“What else?” 

“May be too early to tell, but I think he might have a big nose. It’s wider on the sides than mine.” 

Matt actually  _ laughed  _ at that, a full, open mouthed laugh. “Did you just say your own baby has a big nose?” 

“He’s your kid too, Murdock. He probably got it from you.” 

“Mine’s only so big because I broke it so many times. There’s hope for him yet. As long as he doesn’t take up boxing or nighttime vigilante work.” 

“My god, let’s hope not.” Peter was dozing, not deeply asleep enough to warrant putting him in the bassinet, but not lightly enough that Jessica would disturb him if she ran the tip of a finger across one of his cheeks. “And he’s got your eyes.” 

Matt blinked. “You don’t mean-“ 

“No, no. Not like that. I meant the color. They look like yours.” 

Matt hummed. “I don’t remember what my eyes look like.” 

“You don’t?” 

“I lost my vision twenty years ago. I don’t even really know what  _ I  _ look like.” 

“Huh. I never thought about that.” 

Matt only shrugged. “I try not to.” 

“Well, they’re hazel, I think. Kinda green, but they’re dark enough to look brown-“ 

Before Jessica could finish the upstairs neighbors started fighting again, and glass shattered somewhere, and Peter was startled out of his sleep and started bawling. Poor thing’s throat was probably raw with how much he’d been crying that day. 

Jessica stood from her chair and started pacing behind her desk. Usually movement calmed Peter down, but he must have been in an extra bad mood, because Jessica’s attempts did nothing to stop the flow of tears. “Motherfuckers,” Jessica said through clenched teeth, “they’re always pulling this shit.” 

Jessica was so focused on Peter that she didn’t notice Matt lifting himself off the couch and walking toward her. By the time she finally looked up she almost ran directly into him. His hands were outstretched. “May I?” He nudged his chin downward toward the wailing baby in her arms. 

Jessica looked at Peter, then at Matt, then back to Peter. “You sure?” 

Matt tilted his head. “What, you don’t trust me?” 

“Have you held a baby before?” 

“I grew up in a Catholic orphanage. I’ve held quite a few babies.”

It took Matt asking to hold Peter for Jessica to realize that he’d never been held by anyone but herself or hospital nurses (and Claire, but she was a nurse, so that didn’t count). Trish had tried, once, but she looked so uncomfortable and out of place that Jessica took him back almost immediately. 

And now Peter’s father was asking to hold him. And she had to let him go. 

“Yeah, okay.” She readjusted Peter’s blanket around him in a sort of loose swaddle and carefully supported his head and neck as she passed him off. Matt opted to hold him the same way Jessica had and brought Peter to lean against his shoulder. One of Matt’s large hands was splayed across the baby’s back, two fingers angled up to make sure his head was steady. 

It was a sight to behold; the devil of Hell’s Kitchen, standing in the middle of Jessica’s living room and gently bouncing a sobbing baby. He made his way back to the couch and sat down. Jessica followed and took a seat next to him. 

Matt continued moving even as he was sitting, torso swinging slowly side to side. The hand not supporting Peter’s body came around and tugged his knit hat down over his ears, then stilled over the ear that wasn’t pressed to Matt’s chest. Matt had turned himself into Peter’s own personal pair of earmuffs. 

Low and behold, as soon as Peter’s ears were blocked he started calming down, his cries becoming whines and then tapering off into a steady breathing rhythm. 

“Huh. Holy shit. How’d you know that would work?” 

“I didn’t. I just figured he was overwhelmed, and when I’m overwhelmed I have to try and rein my senses. So much input at once can be hard to handle.” 

Early in her pregnancy, Jessica thought about the implications of two superpowered people having a kid. Would the kid be affected? Have medical issues? Be superpowered themself? 

She had tossed the idea out the window almost immediately. Both her and Matt had gotten their powers from outside sources; none of it was genetic. Technically, that sort of thing couldn’t be passed to a child. 

But now that she thought about it, she realized her and Matt’s conditions might be more complex than either of them knew. They could have alterations at the genetic level and never know. 

Jessica watched as Matt finally stopped rocking. He leaned backward so he could rest on the back of the sofa without jostling Peter. “You don’t think he’s like either of us, do you?” 

Matt seemed to consider the idea. “I wouldn’t think so. Neither of us were born with abilities. But who knows, honestly. Genetics isn’t exactly either of our fields of expertise.” 

“I kinda hope he’s nothing like either of us. All our abilities have brought us is trouble.” 

“There’s definitely been some trouble. But look at us now.” Matt’s unseeing eyes were aimed down and over, as close as they could be to looking at the baby on his chest. “I wouldn’t call this trouble.” Then he leaned down and, as softly as Jessica had even seen Matt Murdock do anything, placed a kiss to the crown of Peter’s head. 

And then he paused, and started chuckling, and then he was laughing, and eventually his chest was bouncing with such glee that Jessica thought he might wake the baby. 

“What’s so funny, Murdock?” 

He took a minute to compose himself. Then he used the pointer finger of the hand over Peter’s ear to poke at the tips of the woven devil horns protruding from Peter’s hat. “A little something to remember me by?” He asked with a grin. 

Jessica rolled her eyes. “It was a  _ gift.”  _

“Yeah. Sure it was.” 

“I’m not going to waste a perfectly good hat.” 

“You keep telling yourself that.” 

**Author's Note:**

> By the time I finished writing this I didn't like it, but its 22,000 words so there was no way I wasn't gonna post it.


End file.
